The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Seventh Lecture

[ 1 ] To get closer and closer to the problems we have touched upon in these reflections, let us insert a few interim observations today. You are all surely familiar with a playful experiment that magicians perform very frequently: They display weights—heavy weights—and demonstrate the effort they must exert to lift them. To make the whole thing seem even more believable, the weights usually have numbers on them—so many hundredweight or kilograms or the like. After the performer has strained for a while to slowly lift these weights and the audience has marveled at his muscular strength, he suddenly lifts the weights in a single motion or even lets a little boy come up on stage, who then runs off, swinging the weights around as he goes, because the whole thing is made of papier-mâché and only gives the impression of being real weights by imitating their shape and the numbers on them.

[ 2 ] One is often reminded of this experiment today if one has even a modest background in the humanities and then hears what our contemporaries—even the more witty ones—say and write about historical events or historical figures. We ourselves feel this way even about those biographers and historians who, in keeping with the spirit of our times, perform their task exceptionally well. With a background in the humanities, one can derive great satisfaction for a time from the accounts one encounters. But then, when one finally allows the whole thing to sink in once more, it seems as if a small child were running off with all the described nonsense, shaking it about as it goes.

[ 3 ] This is a feeling that perhaps not many people share, although I have found that a significant number of people do have an instinctive response to historical accounts of the present day. The entire history of Rome, and especially the history of Greece, as they are portrayed today, actually fall into the category that can be characterized in this way. And I must say, for example, that historians of a certain field, whom I hold in the highest esteem, nevertheless give me this impression. For example, I have the utmost admiration for Herman Grimm as a historian, as you may have gathered from some of my lectures. Yet when I pick up his book on Goethe, or on Michelangelo, or on Raphael, these figures appear to me as if—to speak in relative terms—they had no weight, or as if they were merely fleeting shadows. Herman Grimm’s entire Goethe, his entire Michelangelo, are ultimately figures from the “Laterna magica,” which also lack any weight. Where does this come from? It stems from the fact that those people who today are equipped only with the education and intellectual content of the present—even though they mostly believe they are depicting reality—have no real sense of true reality. People today are so infinitely far removed from true reality because they do not know that which surrounds us—that which, while it may not give the figures physical weight, does give them spiritual weight. Consider that, especially in these weeks, Luther is certainly being portrayed a hundredfold, perhaps a thousandfold. Very witty, of course; after all, most of the people writing today are witty. I mean that quite sincerely. But this Luther, as described by our contemporaries, is portrayed just like the image we have of a papier-mâché weight, because the portrayal lacks precisely that which gives figures their weight. One might say: If you’re sitting here on a chair and have the man in front of you lifting weights, you see exactly the same thing, whether the weights are made of papier-mâché or are real weights. Even if you were to paint what you see, it would amount to the same thing. The painting could be entirely true, even though it’s based on papier-mâché weights. Thus, historical figures can be portrayed truthfully in the most eminent sense—Luther, for example—and contemporaries, who pride themselves so much on their realism, may have succeeded exceptionally well in conveying numerous details, numerous characteristic and significant elements that paint a vivid picture; yet the picture need not correspond to reality, because the spiritual weight is lacking.

[ 4 ] How can we truly understand Luther today? One truly understands him when one knows what the inner nature of Luther’s personality was—an inner nature entirely independent of our own views—when one knows that Luther appeared shortly after the dawn of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch, and when one knows that in his mind and soul, all the impulses of a human being of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch were alive. He was out of place in the fifth post-Atlantean epoch; he felt, thought, and sensed like a person of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch, but he faced the task of the fifth, for he stood precisely at the beginning of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch. Thus, at the beginning of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch, on the horizon of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch, a human being was placed who actually possessed all the characteristics of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch as impulses within his soul. And unconsciously, instinctively, the aspect—the outlook—toward what the fifth post-Atlantean epoch was to bring lived within this soul of Luther.

[ 5 ] What was it supposed to bring? All the materialism that only the post-Atlantean era of humanity can bring. Materialism was to gradually permeate humanity in all areas. To put it paradoxically—paradoxes, of course, never quite capture the facts exactly, but one can still glean the facts from them—one could say: Because Luther was, in his emotional and intuitive impulses, entirely rooted in the fourth post-Atlantean epoch, he did not really understand what the materialistic people of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch carried deep within their souls. Instinctively, more or less unconsciously, his soul was confronted with the nature of the conflicts that would arise regarding how people of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch would relate to the outer world, how they would act in the outer world, and how they would be connected to the works of the outer world; but all of this was, in truth, of no concern to him as a person who felt in the spirit of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch. Hence his emphatic statement: Nothing good can come from all this interaction with the external world, from all this connection to the external world through one’s work. You must detach yourselves from this connection to the external world, detach yourselves from all that the external world offers, and find the connection to the spiritual world solely within your own hearts. Not from what you can know, but from what you can believe to be springing from your mind, from your soul, you must build the bridge between the spiritual world and the earthly world. It was from this lack of connection with the external world that Luther’s emphasis on an exclusively inner connection of faith with the spiritual world arose.

[ 6 ] Or take another example: In a certain sense, the spiritual world was open to Luther’s mind’s eye. His visions of the devil do not need to be excused, as Ricarda Huch does—though she has otherwise written very commendably about Luther in her book. But there is no need to excuse his visions of the devil today by saying: He did not believe in a devil with a tail and horns running around in the streets. — He had a real vision of the devil. He knew what kind of being this Ahrimanic nature is; he knew that very well. Before his inner eye, as was the case with people of the fourth post-Atlantean period, the spiritual world was still open to a certain degree—open precisely to those manifestations that are, of course, the most essential of the fifth post-Atlantean period. And the most essential spiritual forces of the fifth post-Atlantean period are the Ahrimanic ones. That is why he saw them. The people of the fifth post-Atlantean period, on the other hand, have the peculiarity that they are under the influence of these forces but do not see them. But because Luther was, so to speak, transported from the fourth post-Atlantean period, he saw the forces and emphasized them accordingly. And if one does not take this concrete connection with the spiritual world into account, one simply does not understand him.

[ 7 ] If you go back to the 15th, 14th, 13th, and 12th centuries, you will find an understanding of the transformations of the material world everywhere. What was written later is, for the most part, pseudoscience, because the actual relevant secrets were lost with the passing of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch. But not everything is pseudoscience, and some truth found its way into it, though it is difficult to find; it’s just that it isn’t exactly outstanding, especially what was printed in later times. The relevant mysteries had simply been lost. But in the time when the mysteries of alchemy were known—during the fourth post-Atlantean epoch—it was perfectly possible to speak in ecclesiastical contexts of transubstantiation, of the transformation of bread and wine into the Body and Blood, for these words could still be associated with specific concepts. Luther was steeped in the way of thinking and feeling of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch, but he was situated within the fifth post-Atlantean epoch. He therefore had to remove transubstantiation from the context of physical, material transformation. And what did the sacrament, transubstantiation, become for him? A process taking place solely in the spiritual realm. Nothing is transformed, he says; rather, simply by the administration of the Lord’s Supper, the body and blood of Jesus Christ pass into the believer. — Everything Luther says, everything he thinks and feels, is said, thought, and felt precisely because he is a person with the mindset of the people of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch: he carries over the connection—the spiritual connection—that the people of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch had with the gods into the fifth, godless age, into the materialistic, spiritually empty, faithless, and knowledgeless age.

[ 8 ] You see, that’s where Luther gains intellectual weight; that’s where one understands why he says this or that, quite apart from the impression he makes on us today. There he stands within the outside world like a weight that has real substance. And now hundreds and thousands of contemporary theologians or historians can come along and describe their impressions: the personality—the weighty personality—does not convey that; rather, it conveys only what someone who does not possess real weight can convey—one made merely of papier-mâché.

[ 9 ] You see what is important for the present time. What matters is gaining an awareness of the factors that give the environment spiritual significance—an awareness that spirit lives in everything and that one can find this spirit only by attempting to approach it through spiritual science. Of course, you can collect as many documents as you like and jot down notes about Luther; you can present a picture that is accurate in an external sense: yet he remains, comparatively speaking, a papier-mâché figure if you cannot truly get to the heart of what gives the figure spiritual weight. Now one might say again: It is a harsh reality that even the most spiritually profound people offer descriptions that, by comparison, can be described as papier-mâché weights. And even if that were the case—the descriptions were, after all, truly beautiful and in many ways satisfying—should that suddenly change now? Couldn’t we continue to take pleasure in such descriptions?

[ 10 ] As you can see, two questions stand out here regarding our state of consciousness, questions that can move us quite deeply. Why, then, has the spiritual world demanded from human beings the very instincts that lead to these descriptions? Well, these things actually point only to a very, very general phenomenon that is intimately connected with human nature. In these reflections, I have pointed out that we are living in a time when certain truths must come to light—truths that are uncomfortable for people. But if one understands the signs of the times, one knows that these truths must come to light.

[ 11 ] I have written the first part of my treatise on “The Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz” for the next issue of the journal Das Reich. In it, I have gently alluded to certain such truths. Until very recently, it was frowned upon among those who knew about these things to speak of them publicly. Today, these matters must be discussed, no matter what inconveniences that may entail. And a brief passage in this essay—which will soon appear in Das Reich—is directly related to what I now wish to allude to here.

[ 12 ] Don’t we humans, after all, go through life in such a way that we initially have no fully reliable knowledge of the things immediately surrounding us? I think everyone can soon see this for themselves. After all, we usually go through life relying primarily on our sense of sight; and if we did not have other experiences to draw upon, we could never actually know with complete certainty whether anything we see is heavy or light. We must first pick it up and test it. Think of how many things there are where you cannot possibly know whether they are heavy or whether, when you pick them up, it’s as light as air. And finally, even if you know it isn’t light as air, that knowledge doesn’t come from looking at it, but rather—though you don’t think about it, it remains in your subconscious—from the fact that you’ve lifted something like this before and draw the completely unconscious, instinctive conclusion: If this looks like everything else that’s been this or that heavy has always looked, then this one will be the same. Looking at it alone tells you absolutely nothing.

[ 13 ] What does looking actually give you? Deception. By viewing the world through only one sense, you are subject to deception everywhere. Deception all around! And the only way to escape deception is by unconsciously, instinctively drawing on your experience. So, in fact, the world is entirely intent on deceiving us from the very beginning, even in the external sensory world. We live, in essence, in a world that constantly deceives us, a world that is downright intent on deceiving us. Deception can be quite naturalistic today. Painters and sculptors set out to represent something for the sake of meaning. In doing so, they do not consider that they are thereby representing only Maya, only deception; for precisely when one tries to represent a thing quite realistically for the sake of meaning, one represents only deception, only Maya. But this is necessary, for if this illusion were not there, we could not progress in consciousness. It is to this illusion that we owe our progress in consciousness. If I stick with my example of the external sensory world: If all things—even if they appeared only to the eye—were to appear in their true weight, I would constantly, as I looked around with my eyes, feel the burden of all the objects I was looking at, and I could not develop an awareness of the external world—not at all, of course. We owe our consciousness to illusion. At the very foundation of the things that constitute our consciousness lies illusion. We must be deceived in order to move forward, to advance consciousness, for consciousness is a child of illusion. Illusion must simply not penetrate the human being at first; otherwise, he will be led astray. Illusion remains beyond the threshold of consciousness. The guardian protects us from immediately seeing, at every turn, that the world around us is deceiving us. We struggle upward because the world does not reveal its weight to us, thereby allowing us to rise above it and remain conscious. Consciousness depends on many other things as well; but above all, it depends on the fact that the world around us is permeated by illusion.

[ 14 ] But just as it is necessary for illusion to prevail for a certain time in order for consciousness to be generated, so too is it necessary that, once consciousness is generated, one must in turn transcend the illusion—particularly in certain areas. For since consciousness is based on maya, on illusion, it cannot approach true reality; it would have to be subjected time and again to such confusions as I have indicated. Thus, periods must alternate: periods of describing weightless circumstances and personalities, and periods in which, in turn, the weights—the spiritual weights—are perceived. We are now facing such a period with regard to major world events, and we are also facing such a period with regard to everyday phenomena: We are now called upon to see through the things that are seriously at stake in this realm.

[ 15 ] One thing, however, is of particular importance. When the world today turns its gaze to the East—to what actually lives in Eastern Europe—then the European world, the Central European world, and America see this world of Eastern Europe just as someone who sees weights made of papier-mâché would: they do not see the spiritual weight that actually lies within it. Indeed, it is certainly the case that even the people who live in Eastern Europe themselves have no real sense of what lives spiritually in this part of Europe. Just as one can understand Luther—who, as a human being, belongs inwardly to the fourth post-Atlantean epoch but is situated at the starting point of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch—so must the world come to understand the true nature of the spirituality of Eastern Europe, because this corresponds to the way one must act in the fifth post-Atlantean epoch. Take everything that has been said in the various lectures and lecture series about this Eastern Europe—how the spiritual self is working its way up there, how it must connect with the consciousness-soul of the West—and add to that the fact that the impulses for the sixth post-Atlantean epoch are being prepared there; then you have what gives Eastern Europe its true significance. And if, on the other hand, you take everything people tell you today—no matter how spirited their descriptions may be—then you have those “weights” that might just as well be made of papier-mâché. But one cannot act on what exists in Maya, in illusion; one can act only on what exists in reality. You would, of course, protest if a merchant were to place paper-mâché weights on the scale instead of real ones. In that case, you would demand not only that it look the part, but that it actually have real weight. All political principles, all political impulses discussed in connection with Russia, will amount to nothing—will be nullities—if they do not spring from the consciousness that arises from the recognition of spiritual weight. What people are saying today really does seem as if they were placing papier-mâché weights on the scales of world history. Because consciousness must develop, delusion must prevail for a certain period. But once consciousness has developed, it must not continue to be applied in the old way out of sloppiness and complacency; rather, it must be directed toward reality, not merely toward outward delusion. A transition will have to take place from views that humanity loves because they are comfortable for it today, to views that possess a much greater vitality of concepts—views that are only more uncomfortable because they also shake things up. It is not as easy to live with the views of the future as it is with the views of the past. Why is that? I would like to explain this to you through a comparison that will likely strike you as surprising. But I will not shy away from saying such things, regardless of what one person or another may feel about the truths in question.

[ 16 ] I have already pointed out that in earlier epochs—even in the fourth post-Atlantean epoch—human beings possessed powers that have since been transformed and have become something else. I said, yes, even clairvoyance has become something different today; it is based on different things. Certain things can no longer take place in the same way as they did, for example, in the fourth post-Atlantean epoch—such as, among many other things, the following.

[ 17 ] In the fourth post-Atlantean epoch—which people today know about only through stories they naturally do not believe—there were trials by fire. These consisted of attempting to determine the guilt or innocence of a particular person by making them walk across a bed of hot coals. If he was burned, he was deemed guilty; if he was not burned and walked safely across the embers, he was considered innocent. To people today, this is of course an old superstition, but it is true. It is just one of those qualities that people used to have but can no longer possess. Human nature used to possess this quality: When an innocent person, in that solemn moment, was so imbued with his innocence, felt himself to be in the bosom of the divine spirits, and was so firmly connected in his consciousness with the spiritual world that his astral body was drawn out of his physical body, then he could walk over hot coals with his physical body. That was indeed the case in earlier times. That is the truth. It would be quite good if you were to make it absolutely clear to yourself that this old superstition is based on a truth—even if it is not exactly advantageous for you to tell the pastor about these more intimate truths tomorrow.

[ 18 ] Yes, but these things have changed. A person who had to prove his innocence in a certain way might, under certain circumstances, have been made to walk over coals. But you can be quite certain that, in general, people even back then were afraid of fire and did not like to walk over red-hot grates. That was already the case back then—it generally sent a shudder through them, except for those who could prove their innocence by doing so. But some of the power that once led people across the embers has now become more inner—more inner in the sense I spoke of last time regarding internalization in general. And it is precisely the clairvoyance of the fifth post-Atlantean epoch—the connection with the spiritual world—that is based on the same, now transformed, forces upon which walking through fire was once based. These forces have simply become more internal.

[ 19 ] If one wishes to come into contact with certain aspects of the spiritual world today, one must overcome a fear similar to the one one had to overcome in earlier times when passing through fire. That is why many people today fear the spiritual world as they would fire. One cannot even say that their fear of being burned is merely figurative; they truly fear being burned. This is the basis of the opposition to spiritual science: people fear being burned. But the progress of the times demands that we gradually approach the fire, that we not shy away from reality. For the inner life, as I have described it in my recent reflections, requires in many respects—at least initially, though this will grow stronger as time goes on—a gentle drawing near to the spiritual world, an approach to the spiritual world in all areas, especially in the field of education.

[ 20 ] In the field of education, we will have to recognize that factors quite different from those derived from the greatest upsurge of the materialistic age will have to be taken into account. We will have to recognize that much of what we must actually consider correct in the most eminent sense—based on the materialistic view of life, which, however, is grounded in the senses and, in that respect, in Maya, or illusion—must be outright rejected and replaced by its opposite. Today, particularly in the field of education, there is such a strong emphasis on the importance of teaching educators and teachers as much as possible about methodology. Everywhere, people point out: This must be done this way, and that must be done that way. — People strive to develop very strictly defined concepts of how one should educate. The template is, after all, ever-present in the minds of people today. They would most like to create an image of such an ideal educator that they could then have at their disposal at any time. But even the simplest reflection on oneself could actually shed light on this question. Ask yourself, with whatever degree of self-knowledge you are capable of, what has become of you—to a certain extent, it is indeed possible to reflect on what has become of oneself—and then ask yourself what the teachers and educators who influenced you in your youth were like. Or if that doesn’t work, try focusing on a well-known, significant figure and then consider their educators—see if you can reconcile the significance of these educators with what that figure has accomplished.

[ 21 ] It would be quite interesting if biographies talked more about the educators; that would bring to light many interesting facts. However, it would shed little light on what the educators actually did to help these individuals become exactly who they are. Most of the time, it would go something like this, as in the case of Herder, for example, who became a significant figure and whose most famous teacher was a certain Principal Grimm: He used to beat the boys terribly. Well, Herder’s competence did not come from this beating; he was a well-behaved boy and was rarely beaten. So the teacher’s typical behavior didn’t even have an effect on Herder! There’s a nice little story told about this Principal Grimm, and it’s true: Once he gave a boy—who was a classmate of Herder’s—a terrible beating. When the boy then went out onto the street, he met a man who was bringing calf and sheep hides in from the countryside. The man asked the boy: “Tell me, my boy, where can I find someone around here who can red-tan my hides? I want to have my calf and sheep hides red-tanned.” — Then the boy said: “Oh, just go to Principal Grimm; he’s good at tanning. He’ll definitely red-tan your hides for you—he knows how!” — So the man actually went there and rang Principal Grimm’s doorbell; it was a lesson for the principal. But, you see, it wasn’t this aspect of the educator’s character that made Herder great. And so you’ll find many such examples if you look into the educational backgrounds of people who later became well-known figures.

[ 22 ] On the other hand, something based on a much more intimate matter will be important. It will be important that—especially with regard to the educational and teaching system—the question of karma, the question of destiny, and the idea of destiny take root. It is indeed important to consider the kinds of people with whom my karma brought me into contact as a child or as a young person. And educating under the influence of this sense of having been brought together—an immense amount depends on that. You see, a great deal rests on a quality of the mind, on a disposition.

[ 23 ] If you consider what we can already say today about education from the perspective of the humanities, you will find that it is entirely consistent with this. We must emphasize this in particular today: It is important during the first seven years, until the teeth begin to fall out, that the child wants to imitate everything, and that during the second seven years, until puberty, the child must submit to authority. We must therefore set an example for the child so that it can imitate in the right way. Now, the child imitates everyone, but it will imitate its educators in particular. From the ages of seven to fourteen, children believe everything people say, but they should especially trust those who are meant to be their educators and teachers. We will only be able to behave correctly if we are constantly mindful of the concept of karma—only if we are truly connected to this concept of karma within ourselves. Whether we teach something better or worse is, in fact, irrelevant. They may even be unskilled teachers—very unskilled teachers—and yet, under certain circumstances, they can have a great influence. What does this depend on? Especially during the period of internalization, as I have described it, whether we are the right teacher or the right educator depends on how we were already connected to the child’s soul in question before we—educator and child—were both born. For the only difference is that we, as teachers and educators, came into the world so many years earlier than the children. Before that, we were together with the children in the spiritual world. Where, then, do we get this urge to imitate, this tendency to imitate, when we are born? Well, we bring it with us from the spiritual world. We are imitators in the first years of life precisely because we bring this tendency to imitate with us from the spiritual world. And whom do we most like to imitate? The one who gave us our characteristics in the spiritual world—from whom we have drawn something in the spiritual world, whether in this or that area. The child’s soul was connected to the soul of the educator, the teacher, before birth. There was an intimate connection; and afterward, only the outer, physical aspect—that which lives on the physical plane—is to be guided by it.

[ 24 ] If you do not regard something like what I have just said as an abstract truth, but embrace it with your whole soul, you will realize that it conveys something immensely significant. Just think what sacred seriousness, what infinite depth would take hold of human souls in the realm of education if they lived under the impression: “You are now demonstrating to the child what it received from you in the spiritual world before birth”—if that were to become a genuine inner impulse! What matters far more is that such an attitude, such a state of mind, be instilled than teaching people that one thing or another must be done in a certain way. That will follow naturally when the right atmosphere prevails between educator, teacher, and student—when they possess this atmosphere and this attitude out of the sacred seriousness of their great life’s task. But this sacred seriousness must be present above all else. It is precisely in this area that this is so immensely important. It is poisonous when, as is often demanded today, the child is expected to understand everything. I have pointed out many times that a child cannot understand everything. From the first to the seventh year, a child cannot understand anything at all; during this time, the child simply imitates everything. And if one does not imitate enough, one will not have enough to draw upon from within later on. From the ages of seven to fourteen, one must believe; one must be under the influence of authority if one is to undergo healthy development. Incorporating these things into one’s life—that is what matters.

[ 25 ] If, especially today, so much emphasis is placed on the idea that everything must be understood—that, as it were, one shouldn’t even teach children the basics of arithmetic without expecting them to understand every single aspect of it—after all, they don’t understand it anyway!—then, instead of raising children to be thinking human beings, we are turning them into calculating machines. We instill in them the kind of understanding found in the elementary environment—the one I spoke of recently—instead of developing their own understanding. And this, in fact, happens very frequently today. People are practically striving to establish the ideal not of drawing the intellect out of human beings, but of bringing in the elemental intellect that exists in the environment, so that the child is woven into, spun into, the elemental world. This is also evident in many contemporary cases. In many respects, we can say today that people do not think for themselves at all, but rather think, so to speak, within a general atmosphere of thought. And if something individual is to emerge, it stems from something entirely different than what is understood as the divine in human nature.

[ 26 ] The nature and essence of life—including in our understanding of the world—must once again take hold of people. As I said, this is more uncomfortable than simply dealing with dead concepts. Life must once again take hold of people. And people must come to realize that it is not dead truths that can govern life, but only living truths. The following is a dead truth.

[ 27 ] We are supposed to educate people to become rational beings; that is what we are supposed to do. So—as this dead truth shows—if we cultivate the intellect as early as possible, then people will become rational beings. But that is utter nonsense. It is the same nonsense as if someone were to decide to train a one-year-old child to be a shoemaker. A person becomes a rational being precisely when their intellect is not cultivated too early. In life, one often has to do the opposite of what one actually wants to achieve. After all, you can’t eat food right away; you have to cook it first. And if you try to do the same thing while cooking as you do while eating, you’ll probably end up skipping the meal altogether. So you cannot make people sensible by cultivating their intellect as early as possible, but rather by cultivating in early youth that which prepares them to become sensible later on. The abstract truth is this: The intellect is cultivated through the intellect. The truth of life is this: The mind is cultivated through a healthy belief in a legitimate authority. The subject and predicate in a living sentence have a completely different meaning than the subject and predicate in a dead, abstract sentence. This is something with which humanity must gradually become more and more familiar.

[ 28 ] That is inconvenient. Think how convenient it is when you set a goal and believe you can achieve it immediately by doing exactly what the goal implies. In life, one must do the opposite. That is, of course, inconvenient. But finding one’s way into reality and into life—that is the task of our time, and it is what we must let permeate us in the most profound sense. This is necessary when facing both great and everyday tasks. One will not understand the times and will do the most wrong thing possible if one does not engage with these matters. Today, one has no inkling of how abstract—how infinitely abstract—one actually is, because one wants to force everything into a certain mold. But reality is not pressed into molds; reality is in the midst of metamorphosis. Our skull, our cranial vertebrae, are transformations of our spinal vertebrae, yet the two look entirely different. Let me give an example from practical life. Imagine this: At some university, there is a professor who advocates something that I—or someone else—must oppose in the most emphatic sense. I will, of course, make every effort to show that the person in question is advocating something incorrect; I will spare no effort, if I am to do my duty, to show that he is wrong, that everything he says is—to put it grotesquely—mere drivel. That is one side of the matter.

[ 29 ] Suppose the university professor in question were to find himself in a situation where the authorities wanted to remove him from office for any reason, or where the authorities wanted to discipline him. What would I do then? Of course, I would stand up for him in the most emphatic sense—against his dismissal and against disciplinary action—because it does not matter whether one is an opponent of his teachings when it comes to the realization of free institutions. As long as one remains on theoretical ground, one fights. The struggle ceases—and may even turn into defense—when it comes to an external institution. And one must recognize that anyone who, for example, allows themselves to be led by opposition to the point of participating in the disciplinary action against the person in question is thinking reprehensibly. But let’s suppose the university professor in question were a professor of economics or political science and were appointed to a position as a statesman, and the question now were whether or not to have him serve as a statesman. How would one act in that situation? One would have to act in such a way as to, of course, remove him from his position as a statesman as quickly as possible, for there his teaching would be practically harmful.

[ 30 ] Action is always about living in reality—in the immediately living reality—and not allowing oneself to be dominated by one’s concepts. In conceptual life, the point is precisely to focus sharply on one’s concepts. I used this example to illustrate the difference between behaving in reality and behaving within one’s concepts. And anyone who fails to distinguish between the two is not someone who can in any way cope with the challenges of the near future. A person who fails to make this distinction is, at best, a Wilsonian, but not someone who can cope with the challenges of the near future or take them into account. What matters is to carefully weigh what exists in reality against what one must be convinced of within one’s conceptual world.

[ 31 ] And the education of young people, in particular, must focus on such things. Today, those who are to become educators are burdened especially by being taught all sorts of principles about how they should teach and how they should educate. In the near future, that will be far less important. What will be important, on the other hand, is that they come to know human nature in its various manifestations, that they become psychologists in the most intimate sense, that they become true connoisseurs of the soul; for the relationship between the educator, the teacher, and the pupil must become analogous to clairvoyance. Even if the educator is not fully conscious of this, but it lives instinctively within his soul, it must nevertheless be the case that he—instinctively, especially as a teacher—gains a vision, bordering on prophecy, of what is striving to emerge from the one being educated. And then something remarkable will come to pass, however strange it may sound today: The educators of the future will dream a great deal about their pupils, for prophecies are veiled within dreams. The images we have in our dreams exist only because we are unaccustomed to connecting the dream with the future; we cast the reminiscences of the past over it like a garment over a body. What actually lives in the dream always points to the future. It is indeed the case that the inner life must be transformed, especially among those who educate young people. That is what is important. However, since more or less all people are, in one way or another, educators of young people—with the exception of a small minority—what I have alluded to—an understanding of the karmic connections within human beings—must have a more general significance. An immense amount will depend on this becoming common knowledge.

[ 32 ] The current generation is, above all, educated only in abstract thinking; it constantly confuses abstract thinking with living thinking. That is why it is so rare today for someone to be able to stand up with fervent enthusiasm for a person whose ideas they actually detest in their own mind, and it suits them just fine when external forces render that person harmless. But it is precisely from such things that we will have to learn. And nothing will educate people better than when they come to defend their opponents with ever-increasing enthusiasm. Of course, this must not be forced. Today, people are friends or foes based on their abstractions. But that makes no sense. Only real-life circumstances make sense. And these are determined by life itself, not by our sympathies and antipathies. Nevertheless, we must still develop our sympathies and antipathies; we must still have them. The pendulum must not swing only to one side, but also to the other. But to live in this way within duality, to immerse oneself in deep thought, to pour oneself out over reality—in accordance with what reality demands—that is what humanity must learn. Today, when it goes out into reality, humanity wants to impose its thought patterns everywhere, and it is willing to tolerate reality only if it happens to fit its thought patterns. Contemporary humanity wants uniformity. Yes, uniformity cannot be justified in the face of a spiritual worldview. That is not possible. The world, as it truly is, cannot be convenient for us. Not every person can have a face that we find likable, that pleases us. But to behave toward them in a way that corresponds to our likes and dislikes is simply wrong. There must be other impulses at work. That is why people today have such a hard time getting along; they look out into the world, and if they do not find it to be in accordance with their likes and dislikes, then everything in their minds seems wrong, twisted, and upside down, and they are then dominated by the single impulse that the world ought to be different.

[ 33 ] On the one hand, that is certainly true. On the other hand, however, we must not allow ourselves to be led into the opposite kind of complacency and say that we should always let things slide, that we should simply accept the world as it is. That, in turn, is completely wrong. There are indeed cases in reality where the harshest, most rigorous criticism is necessary, and that is where it must come into play—that is to say, reality must be acknowledged. The balance between clear internalization in clearly defined concepts and the loving contemplation of the phenomena of the world—that is what matters.

[ 34 ] Spiritual science can serve as a good guide for us if we truly approach it in the manner it deserves. But we must first learn to do so in the proper sense. What is gained from the spiritual world as truth is like a message; it comes to the clairvoyant person as a message. If we then do not treat these truths as messages, but instead treat them the same way we treat external, grossly sensory facts, we are approaching spiritual science incorrectly. Everything can be understood through spiritual science. But if, with everything the spiritual scientist says, we ask, “Yes, why, why?”—that is wrong, because he receives it precisely as a message from the spiritual worlds. Just as little can someone to whom I say, “Hans Müller told me this or that,” ask me, “Yes, why did he tell you that?” — “He just told me that; the ‘why’ is of very little consequence here. It is a message. And so things from the spiritual world must be regarded as messages! This must be understood. And spiritual science can truly help us understand what we want for the future and for reality.”

[ 35 ] But, my dear friends, let's talk more about that tomorrow.