The Rudolf Steiner Archive

16. Supernatural Knowledge and Its Strengthening Power for the Soul in These Fateful Times

[ 1 ] Ladies and gentlemen, in previous years I have had the privilege of giving lectures in this city on questions of worldview based on what I take the liberty of calling “spiritual science.” And even in these fateful times of ours, the friends of our spiritual-scientific worldview here in this city believed it would be possible to speak here about certain aspects of this spiritual science. And that should indeed be appropriate for this time; for what is called spiritual science here deals with the deepest, most fateful aspects of the human being; it deals with that which leads people to the bitterest disappointments of life, but also to those feelings of courage and willingness to make sacrifices that we see unfolding so powerfully in our time.

[ 2 ] Well, ladies and gentlemen, what is called “spiritual science” in the sense of this evening’s reflections is by no means something that can already find any kind of approval or recognition in broad circles of our present-day society. And it must be said: Precisely those who are fully immersed, with all the powers of their soul, in this spiritual-scientific worldview will find it only natural that the most highly educated and cultured people of our time raise one objection after another against what this spiritual science puts forward. And it will seem far, far more understandable to such a person when it is said that this spiritual science is a collection of daydreams, fantasies, or even worse, than if the person who is today completely immersed in the habits of thought that have developed over the course of the last few centuries is precisely steeped in a scientific education suited to the spirit of our times, were to find himself immediately in agreement with this spiritual science at first glance.

[ 3 ] It is quite obvious and understandable—particularly from three perspectives—that objections upon objections, and perhaps even ridicule and scorn, might be raised against what this spiritual science has to offer. First, from those who believe they stand on the solid ground of a scientific worldview in the present day. They will have to say—and I say this explicitly—they will have to say even today that this spiritual science denies everything that the so-admired natural sciences have so meticulously accomplished for humanity, both theoretically and practically, in the course of the last three to four centuries in the development of humankind. And from another side, objection after objection will have to be raised against this spiritual science by those who believe that all manner of old superstitions and prejudices are being brought to light by what this spiritual science has to offer.

[ 4 ] And yet a third argument may repeatedly arise against this spiritual science. It is the view that the most valuable and profoundly significant thing that the human soul can hold onto and sustain in life—the religious element—could be endangered by what spiritual science has to say.

[ 5 ] Well, distinguished guests, I hope that, even if I do not directly address the refutation of the objections raised from these various quarters, the remarks made this evening will themselves demonstrate how unfounded—and stemming from misunderstandings—are the arguments put forward against spiritual science. Above all, what does this spiritual science aim to be? It aims to be a continuation—appropriate for our time and for humanity’s current path of development—of precisely what the admirable natural science has brought to humanity. However, just as natural science is for external life and external sensory observation, so spiritual science seeks to be for the observations and insights of the spiritual world. And precisely for this reason—because it seeks to be the genuine, true successor to natural science in the realm of spiritual science—it must, in a certain sense, in order to be just as scientific as natural science is in its own fields, take different paths and employ different methods than natural science.

[ 6 ] And to get straight to the heart of the matter, I would like to examine the relationship between what a spiritual researcher is—a researcher in the realm of the spiritual worlds—as opposed to the natural scientist, who extends his sensory observations, his experiments, and his thinking to that which is spread out in time and space. Precisely if spiritual science is to be genuinely scientific, it must, in a certain sense, continue its research where natural science—and indeed the entire thinking, feeling, and perceiving of everyday life—ends. And this brings us immediately to what runs directly counter to the habits of thought of the vast majority of educated people in our time.

[ 7 ] When one is immersed in everyday life, when one lets one’s senses wander over this everyday life, when one thinks and feels about this everyday life, then one is rightly satisfied when one forms thoughts, sensations, feelings, ideas, and conceptions about that which is spread out in space and unfolds in time. And one recognizes, again quite rightly, that one possesses knowledge, that one has something capable of satisfying human beings, that one has, so to speak, images in one’s conceptions and ideas of what unfolds in space and time. One, so to speak, remains with these conceptions and ideas; one preserves them as that into which one has transformed the external world.

[ 8 ] At the point where one comes to a standstill with concepts and ideas, one must begin, as a spiritual researcher, to find one’s way into the spiritual worlds. I would like to say: The spiritual researcher, just like the natural scientist and the chemist, has his own laboratory and his own experimental methods. But his laboratory is located entirely within the soul itself. His methods are not those through which anything is carried out externally in space, as the chemist, the physicist, and the clinician do, who, through their work, discern the laws of space and time. What the spiritual scientist has to do consists of intimate activities that take place entirely within the soul itself. Whereas in everyday life and in conventional science one remains entirely at the level of imagination and concepts, in spiritual science one must begin with concepts, ideas, and sensations. And one must not store these images—which one receives from the external world—in the soul; rather, one must live intimately with what the soul develops in its life of imagination and feeling, living with it in a different way than one is accustomed to in ordinary daily life. And since I do not wish to speak in abstract terms, but rather to truly show what the path of spiritual research is, I would like to move straight to the concrete.

[ 9 ] The human soul must become something entirely different from what it is in everyday life if it is to observe what exists in the spiritual world. And it can become that if it accustoms itself to living inwardly with that which is otherwise merely /gap in the text]. Let’s suppose we place some idea, some concept—chosen arbitrarily from our own inner soul power—at the center of our consciousness, and then, unlike what we do in everyday life or in conventional science, we do not ask ourselves: “What does this concept express to us?” but rather, as researchers of the spirit, we try to live with the concept, the idea, the sensation, and even the impulse of the will—to live meditatively; I mean, to live with them for minutes or half an hour. In doing so, it is even advantageous if, in this—I would say—inner laboratory work of the soul, we do not use concepts, ideas, and sensations that represent something external, but rather use ideas and concepts that are symbols, which do not represent anything external.

[ 10 ] Let me say, for example, take the following idea: “In the light that interweaves and permeates the world, active wisdom lives.” Certainly, someone might say: This idea does not depict anything real. It is formed purely from the imagination. That is not the point; rather, the point is that we now place this idea entirely and solely at the center of our consciousness, that we now withdraw our attention from everything else that otherwise surrounds us in everyday life or constitutes the subject matter of science. This means: All sensory impressions, all mental images that represent something external—memories, emotional stirrings—must be set aside in the moments when we place such a concept, as it has just been characterized, at the center of all our soul’s activities. We then gather together all the powers of our soul—which we otherwise distribute among external ideas and external experiences—and concentrate and fix them on this single idea. Now, it does not matter what kind of idea we have. That is why I said: Such an idea can be better created through inner volition. It does not matter what we imagine, but rather that we apply inwardly those strong forces that the soul must employ in order to concentrate, through an inner act of will, everything within it toward this one point in this inner work. Doing this only once or twice, temporarily, has no effect whatsoever on the life of the human soul. It is different, however, when we make what has just been described a continuous practice of the soul. Depending on a person’s disposition, one person may need to concentrate their inner soul life on a single point for just a few weeks, while another may need to do so for years, always in short intervals. What matters is that we repeatedly repeat the same image in the proper way or alternate it with other images.

[ 11 ] Of course, I can only discuss the principles here; You will find more detailed information in my book *How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?* and also in the second part of my *Esoteric Science*, where it is explained in detail how one carries out this—I cannot stress this enough—laboratory work of the soul. This is something that is easy to describe, and one can imagine that it proceeds easily within the soul; yet I would like to apply the phrase used by Goethe: “It may seem easy, but what is easy is difficult.” For the point is that the forces the soul employs in such activities are entirely untrained in ordinary life. Thus, by diverting one’s attention from all external and internal impressions and concentrating the entire life of the soul through inner volition—these activities are called “meditation” and “concentration”—an inner, intimate transformation takes place within the soul. This transformation does not occur immediately; nor does it happen in such a way that one can simply resolve: “I will now do a great deal, and then I will achieve what is to be achieved”—that is not the case. Rather, the essential point is that we do not use a concept, an idea, a sensation, or any emotional impulse in the usual way, but that we live with them, that we surrender ourselves entirely to them.

[ 12 ] Then we must wait—not to see what we will do with them, but what they, as we surrender ourselves to them, will become as they grow within us. Our inner soul is transformed, as it were, into a spectator of what is happening within us, as we identify completely with what we have thus placed at the center of our consciousness. It does not take much time during the day. Minutes are enough for some, half an hour for others; but the practice must be sustained over the long term, and these otherwise hidden powers of the soul must be guided again and again in the manner I have just described. Then the person who devotes himself to such exercises—that is, the one who truly wishes to become a spiritual researcher—will notice that something is taking place within him of which one has no conception in external life. Just as one cannot have any concept of this, so too can someone who has never heard of chemistry not conceive of how, through specific chemical processes, hydrogen can be separated from water—hydrogen, which is a gas that looks entirely different from water, that burns while water extinguishes. Just as someone who has never heard of chemistry cannot form a concept of what can emerge from water as hydrogen, so too can one not, in ordinary life, have any concept of what happens when the soul—exerting immense inner energy and perseverance—constantly concentrates powers it would not otherwise use onto a single point.

[ 13 ] For the soul gradually realizes that something is happening that does not occur in ordinary life. The soul realizes—and this is an experience—that it is detaching itself from the physical body; and one of the most profound experiences for the spiritual researcher is that he now truly experiences what is denied in external life or in external science. One cannot say that the soul is already detached from ordinary life. No, it is connected to it. But as the spiritual researcher works in the manner described, the soul will gradually appear to him as detached from the physical body. He truly experiences this detachment before one can truly say that the soul-spiritual is slipping out of the physical body. He enters a state in which he knows: You are no longer in the body with your thinking and feeling, but you are outside the body. It is precisely this that must be experienced—what the worldview of the present day, which considers itself the most scientific, denies: that there is a spiritual-soul life independent of the body.

[ 14 ] What the spiritual researcher experiences next unfolds in a surprising way. At first, one feels oneself living more and more intensely within forces that were previously unknown. Then comes a moment when this inner, powerful energy and the unfolding of strength—in which one already feels, I might say, a kind of inner well-being—begins to subside, to be dampened. And a moment arrives when one experiences something as if darkness were spreading over the consciousness one has acquired outside the body. One could also say: a kind of inner powerlessness, a vanishing and sinking into something that one experiences as an inner sensation.

[ 15 ] Everything that the spiritual researcher goes through is not as indifferent to the soul as the experiences that the ordinary scientist goes through. For it grips his entire being, it completely absorbs him, and it pours out upon the soul a wealth of experiences that are at first deeply unsettling. The experience one has, then, when one proceeds in the manner described, is something like annihilation, like an immense feeling of loneliness.

[ 16 ] And there is something else one experiences, which I would like to characterize through a comparison—though it is meant to be more than just a comparison: Suppose the germ that develops within the plant were capable of imagining something, of thinking. As the plant grows from the root to the individual leaves and on to the flower, the seed is preparing itself; within it lie the forces that will later develop into a new plant. It can develop only by drawing its forces from the entire plant. Now let’s assume it could empathize with the plant’s life—what would it have to feel? It would have to say to itself: As I grow stronger and stronger, as I develop more and more, I am doing so at the expense of the plant on which I am developing. By allowing the forces within me to grow stronger, I cause what is in the leaves and flowers to wither and fall off; it must die. In the same way, the person who, through concentration and meditation, advances in the manner described toward what is, after all, a real core— but a spiritual-soul core within the whole life of the human being—such a person truly feels and senses it as if, to the very same extent that he develops, he must perceive this body itself as withering, as melting away throughout the entire universe. But whoever wishes to attain true knowledge in the spiritual world must have this sensation.

[ 17 ] Now you know that conventional scientific philosophy speaks of the limits of knowledge—that human cognition cannot go beyond a certain point. Many people say that humans cannot go beyond what is given through the senses, which is grasped by the intellect bound to the brain. Logical proofs are presented to show that human beings cannot go beyond certain limits of knowledge. But there is something quite special about these logical proofs. Something may well be logically proven, but life—life in truth—transcends what is merely logical proof. I want to use a comparison to clarify what I actually mean to say, although this comparison is meant to be more than just a comparison. Let us consider: In the time before microscopes existed, certain people did indeed suspect that one could discover the tiniest cells and structures within plants, but they said: The human senses are constituted in such a way that one cannot see such tiny cells. Therefore, even if they existed, they would never be visible. Such an argument could have been entirely correct. Nothing could be said against it. But life has gone beyond that: the microscope was invented, and the tiny plant cells were discovered.

[ 18 ] Humanity—both present and future—will have to come to terms with the idea, so crucial to understanding, that proofs mean nothing. Something may be rigorously proven, and yet life in truth can go beyond that. Someone might say: Here comes such a convoluted spiritual researcher, talking about how human beings and human knowledge can grow into the spiritual world, when Kant—and others as well—have irrefutably proven that human knowledge has limits. The spiritual researcher has no intention of challenging such proofs. But they are no more valid than the proof mentioned earlier. Life will go beyond that. But here is another question: Why is it that there are philosophers at all who speak of the limits of knowledge, who say that one cannot penetrate into spiritual realms?

[ 19 ] Well, what the spiritual researcher discovers is not created by him; it is merely recognized. Recognizing something does not change what is already there. What the spiritual researcher experiences as an inner powerlessness of the soul, as an inner loneliness of the soul, is always spread out at the very depths of the soul. It lies there deep within the soul; it is merely that a gracious wisdom casts a veil over it, and it remains unconscious to the person. And now comes the philosopher; he works only with the consciousness that is bound to the brain. He does not know that deep within the soul there is a secret fear and hesitation about ascending to the point where knowledge initially feels as if in solitary helplessness. He knows nothing of this, and unconsciously he shrinks back from it. He is simply afraid to venture further than the thinking bound to the brain can reach. Now, what I have described—or at least it must not last beyond a certain time.

[ 20 ] One must not merely enter into the inner state of mind that I have just described; rather, if one wishes to become a true spiritual researcher, one must undertake a parallel practice—one must engage in another exercise, which you will also find described in full detail in my book *How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?*. Wherever spiritual research methods are properly practiced, the approach just described is not recommended in isolation; rather, the other path is also recommended.

[ 21 ] This other path—which I can best explain through what follows—is connected to an understanding of what is encompassed by a word of infinite significance for human life, namely the word “fate.” What does the word “fate” encompass for human life! But how do those facts—which are usually referred to as fate—manifest themselves to human beings? We live in the world. What comes to us as fate—bringing suffering or joy, pain or pleasure—is usually understood as mere coincidences that befall us. And the course of our fate between birth and death is viewed as a sum of events, into the context of which one does not look any deeper than to recognize that one is pleasant and the other unpleasant. When a person faces their fate in everyday life in this way, it is as if someone who has never heard of the natural sciences were facing the facts of the external natural world. The sun rises; the stars rise and set; wind and weather come and go, and so on. Someone who has never heard of natural science does not seek any connection in these facts; he does not seek the laws that govern them.

[ 22 ] But just as someone who has never heard of the natural sciences behaves toward a natural scientist, so does the average person in everyday life behave toward the spiritual scientist—who must now come to terms with this fate. Let us start from something entirely ordinary, from the most everyday aspects of our human life. Let us ask ourselves, without prejudice or preconceptions, what we are—in relation to our own self—at any given moment of our lives—let us speak for now only of ordinary life between birth and death. Yes, what we call our “self” consists, after all, in what we can do, what we are capable of, what our abilities are, and how strong or weak we are in the face of life. But where does that come from?

[ 23 ] When we look at life in this way, we may notice—as we look back from a later stage of life to an earlier one, say, our twenties—that certain events came our way, which we call twists of fate. Let us consider: What came our way through these events determines what we are capable of today. Had they not come our way, we would be entirely different people. We have become who we are through what we have experienced. Again, what is meant here can be described as “easy,” yet one can also say in this context: “yet the easy is difficult.” For the spiritual researcher is only introduced to spiritual science by looking upon destiny—which is the smith of our self, with all its skill and all its power—and by making this act of looking an inner exercise, becoming more and more clearly aware: Yes, you are actually nothing other than what destiny has forged out of you. Look upon the stream of your destiny, and you will find that you have completely [gap in the text] allowed yourself to be carried along; you must yourself follow how it flows along in destiny. This must become a habitual sensibility that awakens within the human being, so that he now truly steps out of himself in this way and, in the flowing stream of the experience of fate, sees himself as its creator. When this, in turn, is repeated again and again, something falls away from our experience of fate.

[ 24 ] I used to say that in everyday life we view our fate in such a way that we find some things appealing and others unappealing. This sense of what is appealing and what is unappealing ceases—must cease—when we view fate as the creator of ourselves. And the more we methodically overcome this sympathy and antipathy inwardly—in the innermost laboratory of the soul—the more we come to look up to fate and say, “You have created me; I have indeed emerged from you,” the more this sense of identification with fate deepens. But much more happens as a result. As this feeling arises more and more spontaneously through inner meditation—now brought about more by meditation on sensations and emotions—the more we, in turn, become free within this sensing and feeling, free from our physical body. And we feel how we step out once again from this physical body, but now not into annihilation, but rather in such a way that, as we step out of ourselves, we merge with the entire outer world, the universe, and the cosmos.

[ 25 ] But not what we mean in that sense [gap in the text], but rather in that our destiny is woven by the will. We flow, together with our self, into the element of will—woven through the world and alive—of higher spiritual beings. We reach out from within ourselves, and we have the feeling: Just as your eye is embedded in your organism, so are you woven into the entire cosmos. You were willed forth from the cosmos; you are an act of will from the cosmos.

[ 26 ] And if one wishes to describe what one finds so deeply unsettling—for everything that constitutes the method of the humanities is, at least in its early stages, interwoven with deeply unsettling events—if one wishes to describe that, one could express what one feels in the following words: That which one was, or believed oneself to be—that self with all its faculties, with everything that one is—one has actually lost. It has flowed out first into the world of destiny, then into the universal cosmos, and one must receive oneself anew from the whole world, encounter oneself anew. This becomes an experience in which one says to oneself: One is no longer the person one used to be. But a higher self steps toward you from the whole world; you look at yourself.

[ 27 ] This feeling, in turn, is linked to something subconscious in one’s perception—something unknown in ordinary life—over which a veil has been mercifully woven, a veil that conceals feelings of fear: the fear of what one truly is when one finds oneself confronted with the self as the world wants it to be. And this fear must be overcome. One cannot attain true self-knowledge unless one first overcomes the fear of the self.

[ 28 ] One must thus go through two experiences: a kind of feeling of powerlessness and a kind of feeling of fear. While the first experience introduces one to loneliness, the second experience brings one back to oneself, so that what one had previously lost—by stepping outside one’s body through meditation and concentration, which had turned into a kind of feeling of annihilation—now reappears from the other side as one realizes how one is wanted by the universe. One is restored by the universe.

[ 29 ] Those who, in the course of human development, have had some experience of such truly profound insights have described what could be experienced there with the very apt phrase: By having these experiences, the spiritual researcher comes close to the gate of death. And indeed, what was first described as a kind of fainting sensation leads one, as it were, close to death. Let us consider how external life presents itself to us in ordinary existence. As we grow up in childhood, it confronts us as our powers grow stronger. But when life begins to decline again, we see how destruction takes hold of our lives. And it is this destruction that shows us that we are heading toward death. And all that a person knows about death in ordinary life is nothing other than that death is the destruction of what a person has become through birth. And because a person clings to external destruction, death appears to them as the end of external life.

[ 30 ] When we have the first experience described, we realize that we actually owe our life of thought, our soul life, precisely to the forces that have a destructive effect on the human body; this is what is so tragically shocking about the progression of our understanding. We see that our soul life is connected not with the forces of growth, but precisely with the forces of decay—precisely with the forces of decay, with the forces that, in ordinary life, work toward death from the very moment of birth. And so we realize that, with everything that begins at birth, life is given over to [gap in the text] these destructive forces, in which our soul life is rooted, as it overcomes the external physical forces of growth.

[ 31 ] Then we come to realize that human beings need the moment of death—the moment when physical existence ceases—because this moment bestows consciousness for life in the spiritual world just as the forces of birth bestow consciousness for ordinary life. We realize that death is the creator of consciousness after death, that we have death as the creator of postmortem consciousness. And we perceive the significance of death for life; we perceive how death, by always reigning within us, leads us—as spiritual researchers—to recognize that we carry within us an essential core that, as a spiritual-soul element, departs from us after death. Just as the plant seed emerges from the plant and gives rise to a new plant, so this spiritual-soul core passes through the gateway of death into a spiritual world, where it then continues to develop. And just as we ourselves have developed out of the world, this becomes clear to us through the other—through the way we have been willed out of life.

[ 32 ] And so when the spiritual researcher develops what has been described in two directions, and the spiritual-soul aspect becomes free from the physical-bodily aspect, then the outer, physical-sensory world recedes. The spiritual researcher knows that he has left it behind, but he enters a spiritual world. He now knows that he is active within this spiritual world. He knows that he is a being there, for he has learned to observe how this being can detach itself from the physical-bodily realm. And by observing how one has willed oneself out of the world, one gains access to entirely different aspects of the world. One acquires a different awareness of a world that was previously unknown—a world that is truly spiritual. And now it truly becomes a lived experience that behind the sensory-physical world lies a world of spiritual beings, that the physical world is a veil behind which the spiritual beings exist. Thus, when a person has discovered for themselves how they are intended to exist within the universe, they find the spiritual world—a world of real beings, not merely of concepts and ideas, as pantheism claims. Yes, human beings discover much more than that. Precisely by developing this emotional element—this feeling that begins at a fundamental level with identifying with one’s destiny—human beings gradually become attuned to the world in which people dwell after they have passed through the gate of death.

[ 33 ] I do not wish to shy away from this, distinguished audience, because I do not want to merely speak in abstract terms, but rather to show something concrete—to actually cite something concrete: What takes place in the spiritual world is experienced differently than how we experience things here in the physical-sensory world. Here, the beings are outside of us; we stand before them, we perceive them, and we grasp them through our intellect. When we step out of our bodies in the manner described, we are embraced by the beings of the spiritual world. I would like to say: Just as in the physical world the entities and facts approach us from the front and enter into us, so—as if taking us from behind and placing us within themselves—we become aware of what is truly within the spiritual world as entities.

[ 34 ] I’d like to give you a single example today. I would like to say from the outset that I am well aware that, precisely when one goes into such individual examples, the oft-repeated objection arises: “All of this is just crazy fantasy!” And I find it entirely understandable that contemporary ways of thinking would speak in this way. But I will explain shortly what position the researcher of the spiritual realm must take on this point. Some time ago—forgive me for mentioning something personal, but a chemist must, after all, cite examples to demonstrate what he has discovered in his laboratory—some time ago I was compelled to trace the spiritual course of human development historically in a certain direction. It was when I was writing the introduction to my book *The Riddles of Philosophy*. In an introductory chapter, I wanted to outline the major perspectives that characterize the periods of philosophy in the development of humanity [gap in the text]. I found myself in a position where, particularly regarding the first centuries of Christian development, I could sense that there were important impulses present in Western intellectual life. However, if one takes the study of spiritual life seriously, one will very soon have the opportunity to realize just how humble one becomes when considering what the human spirit of inquiry is capable of in the face of the depths of the world. And so I confess openly—and it is precisely from the openness with which I confess this that you will be able to sense something of the truth that permeates what I am about to say—I confess openly that at first I found my own spirit of inquiry to be, as it were, dulled, particularly in the face of the philosophical distinctiveness of the first Christian centuries. Now, a friend from our spiritual movement had died some time before; and as I was investigating these peculiarities of philosophical development in the early Christian centuries, I could feel what was in the spiritual world as the soul of this very friend drawing near to me. And since I had known that person quite well here in the physical world, it was possible for me to recognize that what was now penetrating my own feelings and thoughts—I mean this penetration from behind—originated from that person. And very soon I felt a connection with this soul, who, after death, had a deeper insight into the early Christian centuries; and what this soul inspired flowed into my own description of the distinctive character of the early Christian centuries. And what I was able to accomplish myself at that time—what I described in my *Riddles of Philosophy* regarding this period—I owe to the spiritual communion with this so-called dead soul, who had entered the spiritual world just some time before.

[ 35 ] Especially the spiritual researcher will find it quite understandable in the present day that when such things are spoken of, they are met with nothing but ridicule and scorn. Yet, dear friends, mockery, scorn, and objections regarding “fantasy” have arisen before whenever something emerged that contradicted people’s habitual ways of thinking. I can very well imagine that there are those who would say: What he claims is completely at odds with the five healthy senses! There was once a time when it seemed entirely consistent with the five senses that the Earth stood still, that the Sun revolved around the Earth, and that the stars moved in circles around the Earth. That was entirely in line with the five senses. Then Copernicus came along and explained that the truth was actually quite different. And just as people have gradually become accustomed—very slowly—to accepting as truth even what contradicts the so-called five senses, so too will humanity become accustomed to accepting, with regard to what has been hinted at here concerning the penetration into spiritual worlds, that which seemingly contradicts the five senses.

[ 36 ] Then came someone after Copernicus—it was Giordano Bruno—who, after having fully absorbed Copernicus’s worldview into his very soul, had to say: The development of your senses—and at that time, this truly corresponded to all sound judgment—is what enables you to see the blue firmament up there. You take it to be a reality, but it is not really up there at all. Infinite worlds are embedded within infinite space, and it is only the limitations of your vision that cause the blue firmament to appear up there. Thus, this firmament was merely explained as a limitation of human vision. But for materialistic thinking, too, there is a temporal firmament. It is bounded on one side by birth and on the other by death. Just as the blue firmament of space does not exist, so too does that temporal firmament—that boundary of life that flows between birth and death—not exist; rather, life extends beyond birth and death into infinity. And embedded within this infinity is that which alone constitutes true human life.

[ 37 ] As is well known, it was Lessing—the great thinker, the leading thinker of modern times—who first spoke of the idea that the entire historical course of humanity has meaning only if one imagines that people live out their lives through repeated earthly existences; so that the entire course of human life unfolds in such a way that we live between birth and death—or, if you will, between conception and death—then lead a spiritual life between death and a new birth, re-enter an earthly life through a new birth, and so on, until conditions arise for which this no longer applies. Likewise, we can also look back into the past at repeated earthly lives. I cannot go into detail today about the states that preceded the beginning of these repeated earthly lives. Lessing—so people say—achieved great things, but when he wrote *The Education of the Human Race*, he was already frail with age. Nevertheless, this is the most significant spiritual document that Lessing has given to humanity. In it, he was the first to draw attention to the connection between the past and the future of world development. Our souls themselves have lived in past epochs and have carried the fruits of those lives over into our present; and what they are now experiencing, they will in turn carry into later epochs and apply in later epochs.

[ 38 ] It is like a powerful intuition of what is experienced as reality—experienced by those who thus free the soul from the body, who truly penetrate to the spiritual-soul core of their being in the manner described. Then, when one sees how one has been willed out of the universe, something arises within this “willed being”—which is now oneself—in this destiny that one has prepared for oneself in earlier earthly lives. One must first ascend, as I have described, for this higher self to meet one. Then one sees this higher self passing through repeated earthly lives.

[ 39 ] This is just as much a result of true science as are the findings of physics, astronomy, and chemistry. These things will meet the same fate as what Copernicus and Giordano Bruno brought to humanity. Copernicus had his opponents, who fought him fiercely. Giordano Bruno met a tragic fate; he was burned at the stake. Today people are no longer burned at the stake, but they are ridiculed. That is what the prevailing mindset of our time does. Those who seek to bring to the realm of the spirit what is necessary for the future are denounced today as fantasists, dreamers—or even worse.

[ 40 ] Certainly, there will be people today who are very naive and who say: “Well, what Copernicus discovered are simply facts, whereas what spiritual research uncovers are things that have been imagined!” People who speak this way do not realize how naive they are, nor do they understand that Copernicus did not, for example, observe facts; it was not as if he had taken a chair and sat himself out into outer space, as is shown to children in school; rather, all of that was merely the result of calculations and nothing more—by no means a fact observed through the senses.

[ 41 ] The spiritual researcher must certainly, dear friends, look to the course of humanity’s spiritual development; then, in the face of all opposition—which is only natural to him—he will know that even today numerous souls yearn for a deeper understanding of what lives within us and what overcomes birth and death, what is our eternal core being, and that this can be explored.

[ 42 ] Now one might say: Yes, then only the spiritual researcher can know that there are spiritual worlds beyond the sensory world, and that human beings belong to them. That is not correct. Just as the chemist produces certain results in his laboratory that are then put to practical use, so the spiritual researcher produces certain results in the spiritual laboratory. Just as one does not need to be a chemist to make use of what chemistry produces, so one does not need to be a spiritual researcher oneself to recognize, in its truth, what spiritual science is. I emphasize this difference very explicitly: In chemistry, one can ascertain the truth through its practical utility; in spiritual research, the point is that the spiritual researcher can investigate what can be investigated only through spiritual-research methods. But once it has been investigated, every soul can also understand what the spiritual researcher has to say. If a soul is unable to do so, it is only because it has blocked its own path with prejudices that it has formed over the centuries from a purely scientific standpoint. When people cast off these preconceptions that stand in their way, they will—even if they are not spiritual researchers—be able to take in what the spiritual researcher has to say, although in a certain sense and to a certain degree, anyone today can become a spiritual researcher by observing the rules you can find in my book *How to Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds* ; although everyone today can become a spiritual researcher at least to the extent that, through their own inner development, they can recognize that every word spoken by the spiritual researcher is true.

[ 43 ] New truths always contradict old prejudices. The most understandable thing is that such new truths are initially met only with opposition. But now, when we look at this—I could only sketch the picture of spiritual research with a few strokes of charcoal, so to speak; you can find everything else in books, in our literature—when we look at what the spiritual researcher proclaims there, what does that actually bring into a person’s life? I have emphasized this many times before: What the spiritual researcher initially brings about is knowledge. The fact that I look at this room does not change anything; the room would be the same even without my looking at it. The fact that the spiritual researcher gains insight does not create the spiritual core of being that originates from eternal elements. The spiritual researcher does nothing more than recognize what lies within the soul—what remains only unconscious, what rumbles, weaves, and stirs down there. So when the spiritual researcher ascends, as described, he must first struggle through a sense of isolation and powerlessness. And how he feels—one can only compare it to a single note in a sonata, a note that has its significance within the entire sonata, being lost. Just as that note must feel—since its entire reason for existence lies within the sonata—so does the human being feel when he has reached this state of solitary powerlessness through the first exercise; he feels the Eternal that is within him, but in isolation.

[ 44 ] And through the other exercise—in which a person overcomes inner fear, faces oneself, and comes to realize that one passes through repeated earthly lives—the tone re-enters the sonata. It is into this that the human being enters—what those who have had a glimpse of these things have called the music of the spheres. The music of the spheres is not a philosophical abstraction that people dream of as philosophers, but rather it is a reality, a fact. When one hears it—as a human soul, a tone itself within the other tones—one does not hear the totality of the tones, but rather one is a tone and experiences oneself within the music of the spheres. But before one arrives at what spiritual reality is—what exists, weaves, surges, and works—before one ascends to it, one must distinguish between, on the one hand, that sensation in which one feels as if melting away—while one becomes solitary—that which is physical and corporeal; and on the other hand, one feels fear piercing through one, as that which wants to draw one out of the world, out of the universe, reveals itself to one—one might say, as if striving toward petrification. While on the one hand one feels the spiritual world passing away as if into annihilation—there is no other way to express this in ordinary language—flowing into the ocean of the world, on the other hand one feels that which thus solidifies within oneself. But this struggle is always taking place in the depths of the soul. And what does one gain when spiritual science draws one’s attention to that which is recognized through it? One knows that this everyday life, in which one thinks, feels, and wills, unfolds as we experience it as a gift of life; yet it could not unfold this way if there were not, down below, that which would engender powerlessness and fear—if it were not mercifully veiled and only revealed through spiritual research. But this is what one feels toward the insights of spiritual science, which remained hidden for centuries—when humanity was not yet prepared—yet were accessible only to a select few; this is what one feels toward these findings of spiritual science, which must now gradually, and with a view to the future, find their way into the spiritual development of humanity.

[ 45 ] As these findings from the humanities take hold, it becomes clear what lies at the very depths of the soul, what kind of struggle is taking place there—struggles marked by fear and powerlessness—and how everyday life can be attained only through a victory [over] subconscious forces. But through this, one feels oneself as a human being in the world, set against the backdrop of a system of conflicting forces; what is human becomes the victor, even if it is expressed only in everyday consciousness. But this gives us strength—strength of soul—because we know: Life is a victory; at the very core of our soul, supersensory forces battle one another to bring about, through the interplay of their powers, what we are in everyday life. What is most ordinary to us is a great victory; it is the fruit of victories, of the interplay of opposing forces and powers—supernatural forces and powers—that are constantly struggling at the very depths of our soul. Spiritual science will be able to instill in human souls spiritual strength, steadfastness of the soul, and inner courage.

[ 46 ] And so, having characterized the actual field of spiritual science in terms of its paths and content, it may seem correct—even if not outwardly in accordance with reason, then at least in accordance with feeling—in our fateful time, if I point out in a few words how these soul-strengthening forces must have a certain significance in our fateful time, for we are living within them today, even outwardly, in struggles and conflicting forces—in struggles in the external, historical world—in such a way that we can truly perceive in them an external, physical reflection of that which we have just characterized, so that we can say: It is being discovered, struggling in the soul’s subconscious, by spiritual science. Ordinary, everyday life is built upon mutually opposing forces. If one knows that the individual human life is a victory over opposing forces, then—especially in a time like the present—one gains courage and confidence that the struggles we are engaged in can be compared to what takes place at the very core of every human soul. And just as the most ordinary of daily lives appears as a victory—as the fruit of the struggle taking place at the very depths of the soul—so too can we turn our gaze toward what will emerge as the effect, as the fruit, of the struggles between the forces that confront us in the outer world.

[ 47 ] In another sense, too, the humanities are, at their core, merely a continuation of the natural sciences. It was Goethe who rebelled against the theory of expediency, against what might be called a causal theory. It was Goethe who emphasized that one would only arrive at true science when one no longer viewed nature solely through the lens of expediency, when one no longer asked: “Why does the ox have horns?”—“So that it can butt!”—but rather recognized that the ox butts precisely because it has horns. Goethe said: “This causal way of thinking is increasingly permeating the scientific worldview.” Spiritual science leads precisely to the spiritual causes. It thus extends causal thinking even further to causes that are inaccessible to external observation.

[ 48 ] When certain quarters—often in a slanderous manner, though frequently also with good intentions—express the view that spiritual science is capable of driving out all religious feelings, one must say: The spiritual scientist, after all, has a higher regard for what religion is than those who believe that spiritual science could somehow destroy religion. Religion has not been destroyed by the scientific worldview for those who can see through things. What religion is remains so powerful for those who understand it that no science can destroy it. However, while the scientific worldview has alienated many who consider themselves free thinkers—because they have only grasped a quarter or an eighth of science—from religion, people will be led back to religion through a deeper engagement with spiritual science, because through spiritual science they come to know the real spiritual world and learn that their souls are connected to it. This will deepen people’s feelings to such an extent that, even if they had already become estranged from religion, they will return to it to an ever-greater degree.

[ 49 ] The other important point is that spiritual science, in relation to what is unfolding historically—what is happening around us—will lead us to the effects, to what is meant to unfold. In what is there—not what we are—we look for the causes. But when the facts of history confront us—one cannot prove it, one can only experience that such insights arise from spiritual science—[it is important] that we interpret the facts in such a way that we look first and foremost at the effects. But what is the nature of today’s discussion under the influence of the materialistic worldview? Does it focus on which nations wanted or did not want the war, or on who caused this or that? The spiritual-scientific perspective, just as it otherwise leads to the true causes, leads precisely to the effects. One looks at that which must be won through the sacrifice of blood and life amidst conflicting forces. One looks at how one observes the subconscious life of the soul; just as the conscious life of the soul develops from this, so one looks at what surrounds us in our time—surrounding us in a way that is both painful and yet full of hope—and at what may emerge as a consequence.

[ 50 ] And everyone must stand firm on the ground where fate has placed them. We are part of Central European culture. Fate has placed us on this ground of Central European culture. It will become clear to everyone who knows this Central European culture—and to anyone who has ever recognized the workings and interplay of the spirit—that it is itself like the body of a spiritual-soul being at work within it. I could now cite many examples of what stands out in our time as the truly characteristic spiritual-soul aspect of Central European culture. I will cite just one example, but I would like us to bear in mind that, just as the hand cannot be conceived of without being conceived in connection with what the human being thinks and feels, so too cannot that which Central European sons are accomplishing today in the East and West through blood and sacrifice be conceived of courageously accomplishing what is won through blood and life—cannot be conceived of except in connection with the entire Central European spiritual life, with what the best eras of this spiritual life have brought forth as its blossoms.

[ 51 ] Just as, in human beings, what the soul has produced is connected to the hand, so too is what Goethe, Schiller, Lessing, and Hegel have produced intimately connected to what the warriors in the East and West must accomplish for the Central European spirit. It is one and the same. But things are recognized by their fruits. Therefore, let us highlight one—I will not even say a fruit, but rather an aspect of the fruits—of this Central European intellectual life, to see if it has something particularly characteristic that is not found in the others, which today enclose this Central European intellectual life as if within a mighty fortress. But here we must go into specifics.

[ 52 ] It was truly a momentous event when Goethe, this representative of German and Central European intellectual life, this spirit who, in the highest moments of his creative work, was able to engage in an intimate dialogue with the German national spirit and bring forth what the German national spirit has been whispering through the ages—when he wrote down the words with which his *Faust* begins, those words that were already written in the 1770s as his own creed, which he placed in Faust’s mouth. Goethe explored everything that the sensory world and science have to offer. He longed for that which lies beyond the sensory world—a longing he expressed in words that have become almost trivial today, yet words that, when felt with all their elemental power, appear as something truly mighty in the individual human experience:

Alas! I have now studied philosophy,
law, and medicine,
and, alas, theology as well
with great diligence.
And here I stand, poor fool that I am,
just as wise as I was before!

[ 53 ] This is how Faust appears, according to Goethe's conception, in the 1770s.

[ 54 ] Then came that great era in German and Central European intellectual life, characterized not only by great musicians and great artists in other fields, but also by great idealist philosophers of German life. Those philosophers—Fichte, Schelling, Hegel—one need not agree with the content of their works; one need only look at how they sought to approach eternal truths, and one will gain insight into Fichte’s grand, powerful statement: “What kind of philosopher one is depends on what kind of human being one is.” — He sought to connect the whole human being with what blossoms from within the human being as truth. Thus, he was in turn able to listen to the words of the German national spirit—those profound yet deeply personal words he spoke during Germany’s time of suffering in his *Addresses to the German Nation*, which had such a profound impact. What he lived, thought, and philosophically aspired to was so one and the same in him that when he fell ill—his wife brought home from the hospital, where she was nursing wounded soldiers, an illness that spread to him—when he fell ill with a fever and was facing death, there, in his final hours—his son stood beside him, he tells us that even in his feverish dreams, this most German of philosophers, this philosopher of the world as well—experienced it all; his shared experience was so profound, his shared experience of what was happening in Central Europe at that time, even as he was already feverish—in his dreams, in his feverish dreams, Fichte felt himself right there in the army during Blücher’s crossing of the Rhine; and he lived right there in the thick of it—he, the philosopher who, throughout his entire life, strove for the most sober, most stripped-down, and most crystal-clear thinking. His shared experience with the experiences of his people extends even into his fever dreams. This is a man of a single mold.

[ 55 ] Just as Central European philosophers strove—whatever one may think of the content—one should regard this striving as an expression of humanity. Then, in turn, consider the wonderfully artistic world-structure that Schelling erected; consider Hegel’s magnificent logical picture of the universe—how they all made their way through the first half of the new century, these great philosophical figures; just think of all that was brought into the world! And now let us suppose that Goethe were still alive in 1840 and were to write the beginning of his *Faust* all over again. The great philosophers lived. Fichte wrote a *Natural Law*, Hegel wrote a *Natural Law*; they renewed the field of jurisprudence; Schelling wrote about medicine; they all wanted to be theologians—they added much to what had existed before and of which Goethe said:

Alas! I have now studied philosophy,
law, and medicine,
and, unfortunately, theology as well.
I have studied them all thoroughly, with great effort.
So here I stand, poor fool that I am,
and I am just as wise as I was before!

[ 56 ] An immense amount has flowed into German intellectual life through her. Can you therefore believe that, if Goethe had begun his *Faust* in 1840, he would have started it as follows:

Thank God, I have now studied philosophy with Fichte,
natural law with Schelling and Hegel
as well as law and medicine.
So here I stand, a wise man,
and am I wiser than ever before?

[ 57 ] Goethe would never have written this as the opening of *Faust*; rather, he would have begun his *Faust* as follows:

Alas! I have now studied philosophy,
law, and medicine,
and, unfortunately, theology as well
with the utmost diligence.
So here I stand, poor fool that I am,
and I am just as wise as before!

[ 58 ] But this is what is significant: it vividly illustrates how, particularly in Central European intellectual life, there is a certain striving, an eternal striving; and as soon as one has finished one phase of that striving, one finds oneself once again ready to strive onward. This is how one stands within what one perceives as one’s own national character. While one is Italian, British, or French simply by virtue of being born into that national character, as a German, as a Central European, one must discover what nationality is, what the innermost essence of national character is.

What one inherits from one's fathers,
one must always conquer in order to possess it.

[ 59 ] And as a people, Central Europe in particular had to conquer that which—please forgive me if I bring up something personal again, but I would like to say this: Perhaps I may modestly attribute to myself an emotional judgment regarding something that is important for the forging of Central European national identity. I spent half my life—roughly from the 1860s to the 1880s—in my Austrian homeland, and the other half in Germany. I was still in that Austria where everything that existed out there in Germany was hated as a consequence of 1866. And now we are witnessing that coming together, that forging of a united identity into a great Central European—indeed, a global—cultural achievement, which has also become a triumph won against resistant forces. And when one looks at what this Central Europe—and included within it all the other nationalities that belong to this great stronghold—holds within itself, one must remember that it is like the human soul, which conquers itself through its work; in this way, it is closely related to what spiritual scientific endeavor is. This must lead the soul beyond itself. But Central European striving is on this path to becoming spiritual scientific striving. Therefore, one may imagine that what once was will emerge in the future as the flowering of the Central European essence, that it has its seeds in what Central European folklore holds and what is magnificently portrayed in *Faust*. The interwoven connection with the universe, the sense of self within the universe, the passing through fear—which I have characterized as necessary when one wishes to stand before the Eternal—how beautifully Goethe characterized it when he wrote in his later years:

Sublime Spirit, you gave me, gave me everything,
That I asked for. You did not in vain
Turn your face toward me in the fire.
You gave me magnificent nature as my kingdom,
The power to feel it, to enjoy it. You do not
do you merely permit me to be a cold, marveling visitor,
but grant me to gaze into its deep bosom,
as into the bosom of a friend.
You lead the procession of the living
past me, and teach me to know my brothers
in the silent thicket, in the air and water.
And when the storm roars and creaks in the forest,
The giant spruce, crashing down,
Crushing neighboring branches and trunks as it sweeps downward,
And the hill thunders with a dull, hollow roar at its fall,
Then you lead me to the safe cave, show
Me to myself, and within my own breast
Secret, profound wonders unfold.

[ 60 ] The intimate interweaving of what it means to be human with what exists outside—where, in all the underlying beings, there are brothers, that is, soul-beings, just as human beings themselves are spirit-soul-beings—is already inherent in what Goethe and other geniuses have poetically articulated. Just as the stem, leaves, flowers, and fruits develop from the plant’s seed, so too must the highest spiritual fruit in Central European culture develop from what lies latent within it. Those who immerse themselves in the spiritual realm can recognize—not for external, but for internal reasons—the vitality that lives in Central European culture’s striving toward the spiritual. Then, when one views this Central European culture in this way—in its striving toward spiritualism (not toward idealism, but toward spiritualism)—one says to oneself: There are reasons that give us confidence, that allow us, from the perspective of spiritual science, to look upon the current arduous struggle and say to ourselves: Just as the individual human life is built upon the struggle and conflict of opposing forces—we see this struggle and conflict in the subconscious, upon which our life’s assets are founded—so too are we caught up in this struggle and conflict; but that which constitutes our historical heritage, our cultural heritage, will emerge from these struggles. And insofar as we feel at one with Central European intellectual life, we say to ourselves: The idealistic, the spiritual aspect of this Central European intellectual life will have to develop out of our present age, which—as one can sense—harbors such profound depths within its bosom.

[ 61 ] Truly, our materialistic age has, after all, been built on struggle. There is a people over in the Northwest—I do not intend to pass moral judgment here, only to describe them—there is a people, the British, who are the most vocal in proclaiming that they want to fight for freedom, that they must fight against Central European “barbarism,” and that they did not want the war. Time and again we hear it in Central Europe, heard in scornful terms, that Central Europe wanted the war. So perhaps one might ask: Did the British people not wage wars in the past, for example, during the years when Central Europe sought the deepest peace as a blessing and salvation? From 1856 to 1900, England waged 34 wars, conquered [four] million square miles of land for a purely material culture—which it spread across the globe—and made 57 million people new British subjects. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a material culture founded on struggle. One can see, in fact, that logic does not flourish at all, even in the broadest sense, within our materialistic culture. There is a French philosopher—yes, I don’t know if one must now call him “Fils de Montagne”; he used to be called Bergson; things do change, after all. Bergson, who has been greatly overrated, but who at least attempted to develop a philosophy of life in contrast to dead materialistic philosophy—last winter he gave a speech at the Academy of Sciences in Paris in which he characterized German intellectual life something like this: When one looks at Germany today, all idealism has vanished; we are faced only with mechanisms; the entire culture has become a mechanical one. — He points to the cannons and all those things that have been pitted against the West as mechanical tools. Perhaps one might respond with a question to characterize how thought and logic are applied today: Did Bergson expect that, when Central European culture comes under attack, people would stand at the Rhine border and quote Schiller and Goethe to prove that Central European culture has remained spiritual?

[ 62 ] But sometimes one wants to delve even deeper, and then one says, for example: We did not want this war! The true cause of this war lies in Central Europe! The logic applied here—if one truly sees through it—and the humanities teach a certain agility of mind; they make thoughts so fluid that poor logic causes one pain—if one sees through it, the logic that is widely applied today is such that one might also say: Yes, a great deal—a great deal—of mockery, scorn, and abuse has been heard coming from the West to Central Europe. Yes, none of this would have happened if the art of printing had not been invented. The Germans invented the art of printing, so they are to blame for these slanders. And it would not be possible to fire shots—neither from the air nor on the ground—if the Germans had not invented gunpowder. The Germans did, after all, invent gunpowder. After all, one cannot say that the French invented gunpowder. So the Germans are to blame for the fact that nations are facing off against one another with cannons!

[ 63 ] As flimsy as this logic may be, so too is the logic applied today to that which truly arises from Central European culture: a genuine life that cultivates the spiritual, a life before which one feels a sense of awe—a secret fear—as one would before something higher. But if it has been said that today’s war is being waged solely for material interests, that may be true in a limited sense. Certainly, for trade and industrial enterprise, for the material culture of Central Europe, much of what can only be achieved through this war must be attained. But it is certain that, if not already through the fathers—who act as industrialists and go out into the world—then at least through the sons, that which constitutes the spirit of Central Europe—which has found its expression in *Faust*, which springs from Wagner, Beethoven, Fichte, and Schelling—will be carried out into all the worlds; and that will be a new element throughout the world. And just as our ordinary, everyday life is built upon a victory over conflicting forces, so too will Central European cultural heritage be built—like a victory—upon that which must be so ardently sought.

[ 64 ] This is what truly emerges, in a way that resonates with our innermost feelings, from what spiritual science can tell us as a strengthening force of the soul. Yes, it is opposing forces that are now rumbling out there in the world around us, rumbling just as the depths of the soul do within each individual. But just as the essence of life rises from these depths of the soul, so too will cultural heritage rise from that which must first be won through struggle. Thirty-four peoples—not counting minor national differences—thirty-four peoples are at war with one another today; and we see how the spirit of strife continues to spread. But we look upon what is unfolding there by looking up to what must result as its effects. And we in Central Europe, when we contemplate all this spiritually, may say to ourselves: Just as the individual human being must rebuild his body in every single incarnation and must rebuild it again and again every seven years—for after seven years all the constituent elements have changed, and the body must be rebuilt several times—so must human beings pass through struggles; so must humanity today pass through all that is painful in order to attain a higher quality of life.

[ 65 ] What Europe is now going through must be seen as a warning in the higher sense. The very essence of Central Europe must be reclaimed against what is storming in from the East and the West. And it is not without reason that in the future, what must spring forth from the great spiritual seeds striving for inner growth in Central Europe—if this is to develop— after the ground all around has been saturated with the blood of our noblest people, the air has been permeated with the emotions arising from the sacrifices that have become necessary in our time—if this air is heavy with the pain and suffering of those who, as brothers and sisters, as fathers and mothers, as daughters and sons, have lost their loved ones. Emotionally, I said—even if not intellectually—what I took the liberty of adding to this lecture, which was already far too long anyway, can be felt in connection with what has been said, because the aim was to show how that which comes from spiritual science as a source of strength for the soul truly brings us together with what is the eternal, death-conquering, and all-overcoming immortal core of being within the human being—of which temporary death is truly only a metaphor.

[ 66 ] And because, when we recognize that this gift of life is based on a victory, we can only gain spiritual strength—not spiritual weakness—as a result of spiritual science, spiritual science leads us to what I would now like to summarize—not in individual rational terms, but in accordance with our feelings. That is indeed supposed to be the greatest benefit of spiritual science: that it does not remain merely a theory or mere knowledge, but that it pours into our inner life, becoming a source of strength for the soul within us. For it shows us that the innermost essence of the human being begins only where the impressions of the sensory world end, where the intellect has nothing more to say. What can emerge from spiritual science as a feeling, as a fundamental mood of the soul that strengthens the spirit at any time—and especially in our fateful era, which holds so much greatness within its bosom—I would like to summarize in a few words, in accordance with my feelings and sensibilities, to conclude this lecture, in which I sought to speak about the principles and prospects of spiritual science:

Where sensory knowledge ends,
There stands the gate,
Which opens the realities of life
To the soul’s existence.
The soul forges the key,
when it grows strong within itself
in the struggle that the powers of the world
wage on their own ground
with human forces,
when it drives away
the sleep that shrouds the powers of knowledge
at the limits of the senses
with the darkness of the spirit.