The Rudolf Steiner Archive

49. The Practical Training of the Mind

[ 1 ] Anyone who gains a superficial understanding from this or that pamphlet about what spiritual science or theosophy aims for—what it sets as its goal—can easily arrive at a conclusion that undoubtedly many, many of our contemporaries who hear about this kind of theosophy also reach: What, exactly, does this spiritual science or theosophy have to say about the practical training of the mind? For many, based on such a superficial acquaintance, form the opinion that spiritual science or theosophy is something floating in a cloud-cuckoo-land, alien to the world and far removed from it, which draws people away from the true, genuine practice of life, and that it is therefore the least capable of addressing the demands of practical thinking, which is, after all, supposed to be linked to the demands of practical life.

[ 2 ] Anyone, however, who delves a little deeper into the very nature of spiritual science or theosophy will come to a different conclusion and will recognize, in particular, that it is precisely called upon—for two reasons—to have something to say about thinking as a practical life task.

[ 3 ] The first reason is that theosophy or spiritual science is not at all intended to produce people who are impractical, out of touch with life, or hostile to life; on the contrary, in all that it aspires to be, it can reach into the most mundane aspects of daily life—one might say, into the very details of our hourly existence—that we encounter in the practical realities of life. Only then is the task of spiritual science or theosophy properly understood—when it permeates us down to all our individual activities; when it, so to speak, not only makes us wise, not only instructs us about the highest tasks and mysteries of existence, but also makes us skilled and practical in the most ordinary aspects of daily life. That is one reason. The other is one that is more closely connected to the task and mission of spiritual science or theosophy.

[ 4 ] It has often been emphasized here in this city that what spiritual science or theosophy has to say about the highest problems of existence, about the mysteries of life, about the enigmas of the human being—what is presented through them based on the observations of clairvoyant consciousness—that all of this, when presented, can be understood by unbiased, sound common sense. This has been said many times. Only those who have developed the abilities and powers slumbering within their souls—the spiritual eye and the spiritual ear—can explore and seek out the laws and mysteries of existence in the higher worlds. When what has been explored in the higher worlds is then recounted, it can be understood by anyone who does not allow themselves to be deterred from this understanding by the prejudices that flow to them through the influence of our contemporary culture or any other culture.

[ 5 ] If, then, theosophy can be understood in this way, it is not only useful but necessary for everyone, no matter what stage of life they may be in; it is, so to speak, what makes them truly human. It is, therefore, a universal human good, and it can and must also be of interest to those who might say to themselves: “I will never get around to becoming a spiritual researcher in this life, to having my eyes opened so that I can look into the spiritual worlds.” This is not at all necessary in order to become acquainted with spiritual science or theosophy; but from certain points of view, spiritual science or theosophy is also a preparation for this opening of the spiritual eyes—of the spiritual organs of knowledge and perception in general. It is meant to lead the human being up into the spiritual world.

[ 6 ] For anyone who wishes to ascend into these spiritual worlds—anyone who, so to speak, wishes to acquire clairvoyant consciousness—the proper foundation is not fanciful reverie or overheated enthusiasm, but rather standing firmly with both feet on the ground of life. One might almost say—though it sounds grotesque—that the less a person approaches spiritual research with an overheated imagination, daydreams, and flights of fancy, the better it is. It is not the enthusiast, nor the one gifted with a particularly vivid imagination; they are not the ones who can actually become the spiritual researcher’s favorite students, but rather those who stand firmly on the ground of life. He prefers down-to-earth people, for enthusiasm and excitement arise naturally from the matter itself when the great facts of life affect us. Then we are already lifted to a poetic, enthusiastic state of mind by the facts themselves, and that is what is healthy—not allowing oneself to be swept up in enthusiasm by an overheated inner state.

[ 7 ] Therefore, it is precisely practical thinking—rooted firmly in the realities of life—that is also a good, indeed the very best, prerequisite for those who, so to speak, aspire to clairvoyant consciousness. The more down-to-earth and practical a person is, the better, if they are to be elevated into the spheres of clairvoyant vision.

[ 8 ] All of this can surely show you that, on the one hand, the humanities have every reason to believe that their findings offer insights into the practice of thinking and its development, and that, on the other hand, they have a profound interest in contributing significantly to practical thinking. However, this means it can quite easily come into conflict with people who usually—especially today—call themselves “practitioners of life,” those practitioners of life who, upon hearing even a few words about the science of the spirit, will immediately speak of fantasy and say: “This is something that contradicts all practicality.”

[ 9 ] But what is “way of life” for these practitioners—for those who are so arrogant about their way of life, who take such pride in it, who reject everything that does not fit perfectly into their way of life according to a set pattern? To those who are able to observe life, it appears that these people are perhaps accustomed from an early age—and thoroughly so—to following well-trodden paths: to observe what one sees being done, and to observe it as one can see it being done, whether in the sales office, in the workshop, here and there— and yes, yes, not to step outside the usual routines; otherwise, if one were to step outside, one would expose oneself to the danger of being cast out of the spheres into which one wishes to be accepted; that is the ordinary way of life, that one simply muddles along in the way things have come to be everywhere.

[ 10 ] To anyone capable of observing life, this practice consists of short-sightedness, habit, and intolerance, always accompanied by certain elements—as the connoisseur of the soul will very soon notice—of brutality. This is necessary so that everything that refuses to conform to this dogmatic way of life can be trampled underfoot. But this also leads to some very strange things.

[ 11 ] The best way to understand this is through examples, some of which have already been mentioned here. Today, let’s focus on one of these examples to reflect on our everyday practices. Who wouldn’t find it convenient today not to have to go to the post office counter with every letter, not to have to open a huge book to look up how far away the destination is, and then, in half-pfennig increments, calculate how much postage to pay? In the few cases where one still has to do this today, one can already appreciate how practical it is to have what is called the “pfennig postage”—the uniform stamp—even for long distances. This did not exist some eighty years ago. In the 1840s, it was still the case that one had to go to the post office counter with a letter and go through a great deal of trouble. It wasn’t a postal practitioner who invented this flat-rate stamp, but the Englishman Hill, who wasn’t from the “practical” world. He was the first to point out the advantages of introducing the “Pfennig Porto.” This is no fairy tale. You can read about it in the records of the English Parliament. The one who was the practitioner said: “Oh, I don’t believe what Hill is calculating there; for such a system certainly cannot boost our mail volume as much as he claims. And even if it were true, we’d have to oppose it, because then we’d have to make the post office building three times as big as it is.”—That was the practical man, while the impractical one was the one who made this world-changing discovery of the one-pfennig postage.

[ 12 ] And I need only remind you of something you should know here. When the first railroad was to be built, a medical committee—a practical one—was asked whether railroads should be built for hygienic reasons. The document is available for reading; the verdict was rendered by the practitioners—it hasn’t been that long ago—that railroads should not be built because, as the practitioners judged, people would ruin their nervous systems. But if railroads were to be built after all, and people were to be found willing to ride them, then high wooden walls would have to be erected on both sides so that those the train passed by would not suffer concussions. Another such judgment from practical experience is what Postmaster Nagler in Potsdam said: “I send out two mail coaches every day with no one riding in them; how then can anyone ride the railroad if I have even more trains running every day?”

[ 13 ] These are all facts drawn from practical life. Such a view of practical life can, however, clash with truly practical thinking. But these truly practical thinkers must delve a little deeper into the nature of thinking itself, and here I might as well start with something very concrete. We encounter something of this rather impractical kind of thinking here. During my time as a student, I experienced an instance of impractical thinking—and with such intensity that it gave rise to a type of impractical thinker I would like to call “the inner cart-pushers,” a category that can be applied to many people in terms of their thinking.

[ 14 ] In fact, I can explain to you what these inner “car pushers” of thought are. During my college days, a classmate came up to me with a red face and said: “I’ve just made a wonderful invention; I have to hurry over to Radinger—he was the subject specialist—and explain my invention to him.” “It’s something that will change the world.” — He wouldn’t let anything stop him, ran to the subject specialist, and came back looking a bit dejected. It turned out he had to wait an hour, and he certainly had no time to lose with his world-changing invention! In the meantime, he wanted to explain the matter to me. He began. It was all very ingenious. He described an extraordinarily well-integrated machine design and could come to no other conclusion than that he had solved the problem: by using as little steam power as possible—which the machine consumes initially—and with the help of a wide variety of gear ratios, it would ultimately produce a huge amount of work. I let him explain the matter to me, and finally I said: “Well, look, if you boil it down to a simple idea, it’s just as feasible as that important problem where you stand inside a railroad car and push it forward. Just as surely as you move it forward, so surely does this machine work.” — He saw the point right away and stopped consulting the expert.

[ 15 ] Many people think just as that man did back then, and that is why they can be called the “inner cart-pushers.” They think within certain contexts that represent a limited sphere. They do not see what lies beyond that. They are immersed in the matter at hand and find everything very astute, just as it must be within that context. But they do not realize that there must be something else out there as well. The truth is—without people realizing or knowing it—that the vast majority move within a narrowly defined circle, without even looking out into the distance and without knowing that one must seek resistance from the outside in order to push. People do not consider that one cannot push from the inside as long as they are merely fiddling around inside the cart, within their narrowly defined sphere. They think they don’t need to know anything about what’s going on outside. But the world has little to do with these “pushers.” For the world, they don’t get anywhere—just as the car being pushed from the inside doesn’t move forward. But many people also fail to make progress because they think in this way.

[ 16 ] The important thing is that we learn to train our thinking so that we look beyond the cart. Even when we survey the sciences, we very, very often find within them precisely this element: the thinking of pushing the cart from within. For it is usually the case—and this is the defining characteristic of our sciences—that those who work in a particular field do not look beyond the narrowest of boundaries. I have already made this point clear. Think of the Kant-Laplace theory. For many, it is still something they cling to today, even if it is no longer held to that extent here and there. But the other theories are no better.

[ 17 ] This theory, which posits a primordial nebula that rotates and gives rise to the rings and planets, is beautifully illustrated in our schools—in a very charming way—as a miniature model of the formation of a solar system. You take a certain substance that floats on water, form it into large drops, cut a round piece of cardstock, and slide it in the direction of the equator. Then you take a pin, stick it in, and set the drop spinning. Tiny droplets break off and spin. You have a beautiful, charming little planetary system; the sun in the center and the planets all around it. How, people think, could one demonstrate more vividly that the universe could truly have come into being through something like this? After all, you can see it forming on a small scale. That’s obvious proof, isn’t it? It’s quite pretty. But this is a form of “pushing-the-cart” thinking. The experimenter has forgotten, in fact, that he is the one setting it in motion and that this charming little model would not come into being if he were not setting it in motion. Of course, one need not imagine that there is a giant out there in space setting the primordial nebula in rotation. But one must not forget the spiritual foundations that must underlie what takes place mechanically.

[ 18 ] All of this shows you how essential it is—both for our outer life and for life in the sciences—that our thinking be truly rooted in the soil of practical thinking. Spiritual science itself can now point out three things that must be fulfilled if we truly wish to develop our thinking in a practical sense. And the fact is that, even though it may not seem so at first—that these things lead to the practice of thinking—the person who applies them to themselves will already experience how their thinking becomes clearer, sharper, and more comprehensive.

[ 19 ] We will now turn our attention to these three stages of practical thought training. But first, we must keep in mind the fundamental prerequisite—the right frame of mind—that is necessary if we are to adopt the correct attitude toward thinking. I have already used this analogy. No one should believe they can draw water from a glass that contains none. Those who reflect on thinking today follow this pattern. For they believe they can draw thoughts from a world in which none exist. This alone makes it possible for the thoughts, concepts, and ideas that arise in our minds to have meaning—that they are not something insubstantial, but rather that the world is truly constructed according to the thoughts we find within it. Only a world that has sprung from the thoughts we find is justified in being conceived through thought. Anyone who looks at a watch will easily see that the thoughts contained within it were those of the watchmaker. Only those who reflect on the world might believe that the world is ordered according to thoughts that are conceived by humans only afterward. They would like to accept only the thoughts that the soul forms, and do not wish to believe that things are formed first according to the thoughts that humans ultimately form.

[ 20 ] Aristotle coined the phrase: “What man ultimately finds in things is what was first placed there.” If man ultimately finds thoughts, he finds them because they were first placed within things. But if one takes this seriously, one gains, above all else, what one might call: trust in a way of thinking that seeks to be in harmony with reality. If I know that thinking does not take place only “in there”—as materialistic thinking believes—but that everything that confronts me is thought, then I will seek to see the thoughts in things and to hold fast to things when I am to think.

[ 21 ] Heinroth, a psychologist of Goethe’s time, described Goethe’s thinking—because Goethe, as if by disposition, was born into this life with the aim of engaging with things through thought, of thinking within things, so to speak, rather than abstractly— Heinroth called Goethe’s thinking “concrete thinking,” which, so to speak, thinks only what is in objects and thinks only that which can truly flow into the objects. And Goethe himself found this to be incredibly accurate. Truly, Goethe possessed this predisposition—as we shall perhaps see even more clearly—to think precisely within things, so that thinking was not separated from things but immersed in the fabric of things.

[ 22 ] Anyone who is not born with such a disposition, but must gradually acquire this practical, concrete way of thinking rooted in things, must observe three things; these are as follows: First, as human beings, if we wish to become practical thinkers, we must have a certain relationship with the objects and facts around us, and this relationship can be expressed as follows: We must strive as much as possible to take an interest in the objects and facts of life. Interest in the outside world—that is the first magic formula for attaining practical thinking.

[ 23 ] The second point is this: Our own actions, our own activities, must be guided by pleasure and love.

[ 24 ] The third point is this: When we think for ourselves, when we transcend life and form our thoughts within ourselves, we must, above all, derive inner satisfaction from doing so.

[ 25 ] These are, in fact, the three stages—the magic ingredients of all practical thinking: interest in the world around us, joy and love for all our activities, and inner satisfaction, as they say, in reflection—that is, in the thinking we do quietly to ourselves, apart from the things of the world. But we truly must have these things.

[ 26 ] Yes, but what exactly is interest in things? Interest in things—a genuine introduction to practical thinking—is nothing other than this: that we do not presume to approach things with our preconceived notions and predefined concepts, but rather are inclined to regard things as individual entities at every moment and tell ourselves: They always have something to say to us.

[ 27 ] It may seem like little is being said, but it actually says an immense amount when applied to everyday life. Most people approach the people and things around them with stereotypical notions. And they look, for example, at an individual person; but they do not see that person—only something superficial and fleeting—and if that fits their stereotypical notions, then they are done. This never leads to intellectual practice.

[ 28 ] It’s very hard to make oneself understood on these matters. When I gave this lecture recently, someone said afterward: “Yes, I always have this idea: If someone has a thick, red neck and looks very fat otherwise, then he’s a materialist—that’s what the person himself ‘tells’ me through his appearance.” — The person who spoke like that heard everything that was said but didn’t understand it. He had formed a dogmatic concept: Whenever he sees such a person—with a red, thick neck who is also otherwise overweight—he judges them by saying, “That’s a materialist,” instead of engaging with the individual’s essence and thinking: This person has something to say to me; they possess the spiritual and conceptual within themselves; I must engage with them; every individual still has something to say to me.

[ 29 ] That is one thing. But then it is not merely a matter of cultivating such an interest in this particular individual, but in the course of events itself. And through specific exercises, one can make great progress in this regard. Suppose you are confronted with a very specific event, a specific fact; you observe the fact; a person does this or that. You take this in faithfully. Then you form the following thoughts: If this is happening today, I want to use this fact to form a conception of what may have happened yesterday as the prerequisite for what is happening today. I want to reconstruct in my mind what preceded it; that is, I extend the fact backward in my mind. And then I set about investigating how it was. At first, a person will find that they were mistaken, but little by little they will realize that by doing such exercises—by reconstructing the causes backward to a certain point in time and then examining the facts to see whether their thinking has been guided in such a way as to correspond to reality—they will eventually find that, after some time, they are thinking directly from the facts themselves, that the facts are guiding them, and that they are arriving at the correct premises.

[ 30 ] But there is probably another way to do it, something like this: You can examine a natural event or any event in human life that is happening today, and then constructively imagine what will happen tomorrow as a result of that event. You calmly wait to see what actually happens, and compare it with what you yourself have imagined. Once again, you will see that you were initially mistaken. But if you stick so faithfully to actual facts and have confidence—if you immerse yourself in the facts and allow what must arise in reality to arise in your thoughts as well, if you stay focused on the event and demand of yourself that your thoughts follow the same course as the facts—then you will make progress.

[ 31 ] These are tremendously effective exercises that can be practiced to develop practical thinking. However, there is something to keep in mind here. Such an exercise must be performed selflessly in a certain way; otherwise, it will not be effective. This is based on experience. The moment that selfishness creeps in—which can be expressed as follows: when a person imagines that this or that must happen, and when it then actually happens and the person says, “Didn’t I predict it exactly like that?”—the exercise ceases to work. This selfish joy acts as an obstacle to the power we are developing actually taking effect. This is a fact, a real experience that anyone who performs the exercises can experience for themselves. These things are subject to certain laws, just like the facts of chemical analysis and synthesis.

[ 32 ] Thus we see how a person can, so to speak, delve into things and identify with the facts in their thinking. Then what they think follows the course of the facts. I am speaking today to adults—for children, this would go too far—but let me just add this: If someone wants to develop a genuine way of thinking that is anchored in the external world—so that, as it were, their thinking corresponds to what is happening out there—they must be careful not to simply perform such exercises by placing one event next to another, but must take care to develop a sense of the significance of an event. This is something connected to the practical training of thought, but it is something very few people are familiar with today. Anyone who observes will know how little people have a sense that it makes a difference whether one person says something or another. Both may express the same thing. Yet because of the way one person presents himself to us, his statements carry a different weight than those of the other person, based on how he presents himself to us. To grasp the significance of the things we acquire, we must, above all, develop a certain sense of it.

[ 33 ] Goethe was born with such aptitudes. He had developed them in earlier incarnations. That is why he became something—as is clear to anyone familiar with the facts—that many who call themselves “practical” today are certainly not. Goethe had, after all, become a lawyer and had also engaged in practical legal work. Those familiar with his work in this field know that while his legal knowledge was not particularly extensive, what distinguishes his legal practice is the very opposite of what one observes today: A case is underway, and it has been entrusted to a lawyer. You go there, wanting to ask him something. Yet there is no real reflection there. He is not immersed in it. Bundles of files are opened; slips of paper are glanced at. You can find the most impractical approach there. For many, the very people one must turn to as practitioners are those who make the matter as impractical as possible. Goethe was practical. He didn’t know much about the legal profession, but whatever he took on, he tackled in the most practical way. One must not imagine a person like Goethe to be someone who has to be impractical. Once the files that Goethe compiled as minister in Weimar are made public, one will see that he was a man of action. Goethe’s approach to practical matters was quite different from that of non-poets, though this is not meant to take a stand against those “practitioners” who are so haughty.

[ 34 ] One can also cite this example from Goethe: It is well known that he accompanied his duke out to Apolda and that, during the conscription of recruits, he practically carried out everything that needed to be done there. And when they were finished, he worked on his “Iphigenia,” and he was already working on it while that was going on. Now we must ask: how many of our poets would not feel distracted if, in addition to writing down their brilliant ideas, they also had to conduct conscription! But I do not believe that *Iphigenia* turned out any worse than many a contemporary work of poetry simply because it was worked on during conscription. But Goethe did just that because he was concrete in his thinking, so that his thoughts were at work within things, not detached from them, not speculative.

[ 35 ] This becomes evident when Goethe was able to illustrate, in the most remarkable way, the connection between his train of thought and the course of events in the outside world. Goethe studied meteorology. Today’s meteorologists look down on the amateurish nature of his weather lore; but for him, these observations took the form of practical shifts in perspective—shifts that sensed, once they had taken in the whole picture, what an event would lead to in the near future. It often happened that Goethe would stand at the window, look out, see a small patch of sky, and say: “It will rain in three hours.”—That was a better forecast than many made today. Goethe wove his thoughts into the things around him. It is precisely through an interest in the environment that one can also artificially acquire this level of intellectual practice.

[ 36 ] A second important thing is the joy and love we have for what we do. That is to say, we must try to find joy and love in the actions themselves, regardless of the outcome. Then we will be just as happy to do things that might fail—and yield nothing—as we are to do things that lead to beautiful results. That is truly a prerequisite for practical thinking.

[ 37 ] I knew a young person who honed his practical thinking by binding his own schoolbooks. He took great pleasure in performing all the different steps involved in bookbinding. That is a better training in practical thinking than all the brooding and daydreaming. The necessity of, so to speak, testing every thread you thread and pull for its effectiveness—always having to pay attention to how your fingers move—is truly excellent preparation for practical thinking. And the more futile attempts you’ve made, the better it is for practical thinking.

[ 38 ] Even outstanding figures in the fields of theory and practice, such as Leonardo da Vinci, emphasize this, and they never tire of describing the details. Leonardo da Vinci explains that when trying to trace a model, one should first trace the model onto tracing paper; then one places the drawing over the original and notes where one has deviated. Then one draws again, paying special attention to those areas. Leonardo da Vinci did not consider this simple matter too trivial to devote an entire page of his works to it. And following this instruction, one can try to apply practical thinking to all possible areas of life.

[ 39 ] The third is the inner satisfaction derived from abstract thought. Everyone should actually experience this, no matter what area of life they are in. Even if one devotes only a little time to it, one reaps abundant rewards, even in material terms. No matter what sphere of life one is in, one should be able to reflect—not just on what one is currently engaged in, but also on other areas—and find moments to ponder this or that question. Such moments of reflection, in which one thinks without expecting that thought to flow into the external world, should fill one with inner satisfaction. Resolving questions that are actually far removed from what one thinks about in relation to the immediate practical aspects of life does not help one progress as a human being. What initially brings only inner satisfaction—what one does with one’s thoughts—is what helps one progress as a human being. If a carpenter thinks only about the manufacture of tables and chairs, he does not progress as a human being. As a human being, one makes progress when one thinks about what brings inner satisfaction. This develops the faculties of thought. That is how one makes progress as a human being—and, indirectly, as a practitioner as well. No one will deny that one approaches life differently depending on whether one is one kind of being or another. There is a great difference between a dog and a human standing before the Sistine Madonna. The human stands in a completely different relationship to it. Because the human always remains within a specific sphere, he does not transcend himself. It is through engaging in thought and deriving satisfaction from it that he progresses. Through detached reflection, in which they find satisfaction, they influence practice differently than they would without it, and it is precisely through this that they will grow beyond a narrow sphere. They will grow beyond the standpoint of the inner cart-pusher with a form of thinking that is internally satisfying—a thinking that is nothing more than that which grants and seeks inner satisfaction.

[ 40 ] Here, too, one can find the reasons why it is wrong for our schools to emphasize over and over again: “Oh, why are we taught things that can’t be applied in practical life?” — If they are taught properly, then these things—which cannot be applied immediately—are of immense importance. It is precisely these things—the things that cannot be applied in life—that transform the human being. What flows out into life flows less into the person themselves; what does not flow out into life shapes the subtle organs. This helps the person grow. Through this, they become more independent; through this, they are so energized by the ferment of thoughts that it reaches down into their limbs. One can see that a person develops such an inner, satisfying way of thinking—one that does not immediately turn toward the outer world—and becomes more agile and dexterous in their limbs.

[ 41 ] Nothing can replace this kind of training of the mind. Anyone with experience in these matters can distinguish very clearly between those who do the exercises mentioned and those who do not. When traveling, for example, one can easily spot the “practitioners.” Those who are skilled in the workshop are sometimes quite clumsy in other respects. It is a peculiar feeling to see how even the simplest finger movement cannot be performed when the situation is different from what it usually is. This is a direct result of the fact that they have not been accustomed to developing thoughts internally and finding satisfaction in them. Of course, one need not do one without the other. Anyone who wants to live solely in reflection becomes an enemy of life and a speculator. But the person in whom these two things are in proper balance—who looks at things calmly and reflects calmly—will navigate his entire life, one might say, with skill. He becomes adept at everything; he even holds a soup spoon differently than someone who does not.

[ 42 ] This extends even into the details of life; for thoughts are realities. They manifest themselves in the material world in all kinds of ways. That is what matters. In this way, we train our thinking toward proper practice. We then look out the windows of the car in which we are sitting and see the laws that arise from the fact that the car is still connected to the world, and we do not merely push inward. This inward pushing is very common; and especially in today’s culture—which is so intimately and intensely influenced by the natural sciences—those who have committed themselves to genuine, practical training of the mind can see how much depends on the mere lack of practice in thinking.

[ 43 ] If people had the slightest idea what practical thinking is, they would see from the impracticality of the thinking itself that certain things simply must be wrong. The facts investigated by the natural sciences may be admirable, but the conclusions drawn from them are often appalling due to the impractical thinking of those who draw them. How is it to be proven to many people today that there is actually no soul, that everything humans accomplish is based on purely mechanical laws? Indeed, even in an “Outline of Psychology”—written by a person of great renown—you’ll find a quite peculiar conclusion right on the first few pages. Anyone with even a spark of understanding and practical thinking will be able to immediately assess this for what it’s really worth. It says: In earlier times, it was said that there was an independent soul; today, however, humanity has also been ensnared in this web of the conservation of energy. It is said that it was first investigated in animals that everything one feeds them is merely transformed, and that what they produce is transformed food. The energy animals derive is merely transformed food. How could there be an independent soul if what comes out is merely a transformed version of what was crammed into them?

[ 44 ] It was not enough to demonstrate this in animals; attempts were also made to show in humans how the nutritional energy introduced into the body is released again in other forms. Why would a soul be needed for that? This was tested on students. The calculations intended to prove that there can be no soul involved—that everything a person thinks and does is merely transformed nutritional energy—are very astute. The facts have been observed with admirable precision. The methods are very well thought out, and the instruments are magnificent. The conclusions, however, are the most horrific one can imagine. One need only trace the thought back to its simplest elements to see this immediately.

[ 45 ] The idea is structured exactly according to the following pattern. We line up at a bank. We know that money is being brought into it. Now we check all the money and write everything down, item by item. Then we check what is being taken out. We then arrive at the wonderful conclusion that the money carried out is exactly the same amount as what is carried in. From this, we conclude that there is no need for officials inside, since just as much money is carried out as comes in. Equally astute is the other observation: just as much comes out in the form of work and mental energy as enters people in the form of nutritional value.

[ 46 ] But it goes even deeper into much finer realms. Today we have a wonderful field of research that sheds light on the tiniest organs of living beings. There we find very significant tiny organs. The research methods are admirable; through them, we are able to demonstrate in plants something that mimics the organs of the human soul. It has been shown that there are faceted organs that form the eye. Indeed, images are even photographed that arise in the eyes of plants, and from this it is concluded—not to disparage this marvelous research method, but merely to place the conclusion in its proper light—it is concluded: Since this can be observed, the plant must be animated in a manner similar to that of animals and humans. One sees certain plants that attract insects through their organs and consume them. They develop a certain predatory activity, a sensory activity; they attract insects and digest them, as it were. And the conclusions drawn from this are very likely to blur the distinction—which must not be blurred—between plants, animals, and humans.

[ 47 ] Anyone familiar with practical thinking might say the following: I also know of a strange creature that has the ability to attract small creatures through certain internal processes, as if by magnetic force, and, when they approach, not only to draw them into its interior but even to kill them there. This is, in fact, the mousetrap. And the thought-form that is now applied to the mousetrap is formed according to the same pattern as the thought-forms that some people apply to something intended to open up a new field of study—the inner life of plants.

[ 48 ] When one considers such things, one can begin to appreciate how important it is to truly train this way of thinking in practice using the methods described. Not only can one train the mind to think with caution, but one can also, through artificial means, bring it to a certain clarity of thought by means of the following exercises. Once again, these exercises deviate from habitual ways of thinking.

[ 49 ] Most people are unable to form their own judgments about any matter quickly enough. And once they have formed them, they are satisfied with them. They do not consider that things could have been different; if someone else says something else, then that person is a fool. This is not how one learns to think. One learns to think by, once an opinion has been formed, also considering the other possible way of thinking—by not clinging to one’s own view, but rather setting the other opinion alongside it with all kindness. You will see that this is possible—a fact that can only be characterized by saying: “Only those who do not hold fast to their own opinions can recognize the truth.”

[ 50 ] When you have a question to answer or a problem to solve, it is very helpful to first consider the various ways in which it can be solved, and then set the matter aside—to tell yourself: “Now you’re going to let this rest.” For one must have a belief that is very important in practice—the belief that one has something within oneself, a kind of higher self that can think even better than one does when one is actively involved. One need not be so selfish as to want to be present for everything that goes on in the soul and to believe that one knows what is best. Anyone who believes in the real validity of thought and has confidence in it will say to themselves: My thoughts will make the most beautiful, objective progress through their own power when I am not even present, when I step back and turn my attention to something else, and then revisit all of this tomorrow or the day after. Then one will notice that, by not having been involved, one has become much wiser regarding this question. The possibilities of thought then work within you, and you arrive at a decision in a much more favorable way. This is of immense importance. And if you believe that selflessness has not yet allowed a decision to be reached a second time, then it is of immense educational importance to wait a little longer. And you will very soon notice how your thinking becomes clearer and more quick-witted. Once you have trained your thinking in this way, you’ll be able to piece things together much more easily and quickly.

[ 51 ] In this way, one can specify in detail the things through which the mind can gradually be trained. Another point of great importance is that, for practical training in thinking, one should observe the following: As long as you have an interest in a matter, you should look at it, observe it, and remain silent. You should speak only when you no longer have an immediate interest in it, when you have risen above the matter. As long as you are still too deeply engaged with your interest in a matter, you should consider it and remain silent. It is best to speak when you no longer have that immediate interest, but have detached yourself from your joy and sorrow. Those who can do this will go very far. Anyone who resolves to form a judgment only after their interest has faded, who can take an interest in everything while holding back on judgment, and who forms their judgment only in retrospect—such a person goes very far. This is a very significant pointer on how to effectively train practical thinking.

[ 52 ] And what is particularly important here is that, in the way our thinking develops, we are not even present with what we already are. It is very important for anyone who wants to train themselves in a practical way to try, at certain times of the day, not to think at all. For the best way to train thinking is to cause it as little harm as possible through our own thinking. If we can let go of all thoughts—if we are able not to grasp even the thoughts we are capable of grasping, but rather to think nothing at all—then the inner, ever-present power of the soul takes effect and actually moves us a step forward.

[ 53 ] This is very difficult, and it requires a great deal of energy. But it is of immense value to suppress all the flickering, will-o’-the-wisp-like thoughts that ebb and flow within us and to think of nothing at all. What thinks within us is still there even when we ourselves are not thinking along with it. This develops best when we step back for a while. For then we do not stand in the way through our personality, through our individuality. Just as it is work to consider various possibilities and then let our thoughts work on their own, so it is of essential importance that we allow the power of thought to work without our active involvement—that we allow the thinking essence within us to develop, even if only for the briefest moments, without our intervention. Anyone who does this for an extended period will surely notice the great benefit of such a practice.

[ 54 ] What Fichte said—albeit in reference to an entirely different matter—is indeed true. You see, he spoke about the “vocation of the scholar” and knew in advance that he would have to set such high ideals that people would not follow him because they would find them impractical. So he says:

We know just as well that ideals cannot be directly applied in real life. We merely assert that reality must be judged by them and, by those who feel they have the strength to do so, modified accordingly. Suppose they cannot be convinced of this either; even so, once they are what they are, they lose very little in the process, and humanity loses nothing. It merely becomes clear that they cannot be counted on in the plan for the betterment of humanity. Humanity will undoubtedly continue on its path; as for them, may benevolent nature take care of them and, at the right time, grant them rain and sunshine, wholesome nourishment, and the uninterrupted flow of vital juices—and, in the process, bestow upon them wise thoughts.

[ 55 ] This is what Fichte says about those who speak of the impracticality of ideals. A benevolent providence, however, does its part with regard to human thought. Much of what humans corrupt in their power of thought is compensated for by the fact that humans sleep. If humans were always awake and impaired their power of thought through their thoughts, it would be unbearable. The fact that humans sleep gives them the opportunity to advance again and again into their inner power of thought. However, thinking is promoted much more effectively when humans resolve not to think, even though they are awake. The moments of not thinking are the greatest educational tools for thinking.

[ 56 ] Only a few points could be singled out from the vast scope of what there is to say—a scope that twenty lectures could not exhaust—points that can indicate how, through the laws of spiritual science or theosophy, one can discover how to train the mind for practical life. For truly, thinking is trained through such things; it is trained both in sharpness and clarity as well as in presence of mind. We make ever greater progress if we do not allow ourselves to be deterred from applying such things. One might say: If such inner training of the mind were applied pedagogically early enough, everything that can be chiseled out from within would permeate the human organism to such an extent that it would become fully adept.

[ 57 ] What has been said today is concrete thinking, which makes people skillful. I tell you, as strange as it may sound: Nature still ensures that people can pick up what has fallen to the ground. But if one were to train the powers of thought as has been described today, one would enable people to pick up with their toes whatever falls to the ground. It is only the lack of training in thinking that makes us so clumsy in many things, because the training of thought does not work at the center of the human being; it does not reach the center. This principle underlies everything that has been said today: moving toward the center of the human being, allowing the forces to radiate out from this center into all the human limbs, so that the person becomes capable of even handling a soup spoon correctly.

[ 58 ] When spiritual science brings about a proper training of the mind in this way, then people will systematically come to see Goethe as a role model; they will develop a way of thinking that delves deeply into things and is therefore valid. It is precisely by training one’s thinking in this way that one comes to find the simplest thoughts everywhere—to find what can be easily grasped. One must be able to trace all things back to their simple conceptual structure. This is possible only if thinking is trained in the manner described; otherwise, thinking goes its own way. Individually, the thoughts may be correct, but taken as a whole, they are not useful.

[ 59 ] Isn’t it true that, in science today, this or that is being “proven”—things that clear thinking recognizes as errors at first glance? There are people today who say, for example: “Actually, there is no such thing as substance; there is only motion.” A witty pamphlet has recently been published that takes the position that everything is motion. It actually states that when a person walks from one place to another, he does not carry what appears to us as his substance from one place to another; rather, that is merely motion, and as he walks to the other place, he adds a new motion to the sequence. This is conceived entirely along the lines of the idea that up there is the sun; the sun’s particles are in motion—they dance; as they dance, it is not that something from the sun comes to us, it is said, but rather the nearest etheric environment dances, and the ether dances down to us. Only the movement is transmitted, it is said, and this is perceived as light. This entire “ether dance” is applied to human beings in this insightful book. The whole human being is, in fact, nothing but a dance. When I walk to the next place, I generate a new movement, and so on. One can only advise this good man, when he walks, never to forget that he is generating the movement anew; otherwise, he would have to vanish into nothingness.

[ 60 ] This is an example of how everything today is traced back to movement. Goethe, however, had to learn through his clear-headed thinking that, in his time, everything was traced back to stillness. All of this stems from impractical thinking, which is incapable of reducing the complex to the simple. As a man of practice, Goethe stood in opposition to all of this, and his ability to navigate all that eccentricity is rooted in what he said about his practice of thinking.

[ 61 ] Let’s keep that in mind as we conclude. It can also provide the right perspective for the mindset we should adopt. He discovered that his practical way of thinking was opposed by people who thought impractically, and so he articulated the principle that one should truly take to heart in all practical thinking—the principle:

You may spot something hostile,
Stay calm, stay silent;
And if they deny you freedom of movement,
Go right under their noses!