The Rudolf Steiner Archive

16. Speech delivered during the Breslau-Koberwitz Conference

I

[ 1 ] Today’s youth movement is turning back to nature. The anthroposophical youth, too, is turning to nature, but it seeks the spirit within nature. This search lives on in the hearts of this youth movement as a kind of appeal to the spirit. But the civilization that emerged from earlier centuries showed little responsiveness to this appeal to the spirit in nature. For since the 15th century, humanity has gradually had to lose the spirit as a result of its particular world karma. Now, it is the case that one can most easily lose the spirit in relation to nature when one is on the path to losing the spirit altogether. For consider this: the dead is inherent in nature as the fundamental condition of its becoming. You must not forget that the living always needs the dead for its existence. Just think for a moment that in everything living there must be embedded—as a skeletal framework or other structure—that which was taken up from the universe as the dead. We therefore carry death within us throughout our entire earthly life by virtue of the fact that we must have the inanimate, the dead. We must have the dead. In ancient times, people knew that this dead matter is precisely what enables the living to attain the revelations of the spiritual. And even from Latin times, this resounds in a saying such as this:

In sale sit sapientia.

[ 2 ] Wisdom lies in salt. And in times when the traditions of the ancient, instinctive, clairvoyant wisdom still existed, people felt that in the dead salt—with which they formed their bones and the rest of their skeletal structure—one must perceive that which distinguishes a human being from the beings all around, and who are unable, through their lifeless skeletons, to sufficiently absorb within themselves that which is spiritual light—that which is sapientia. But we are once again living in a time of transition, when young people feel that they also find, in a sense, the death of the spirit in the nature around them, when they approach this nature in the style of the last century, with the traditions of the last century.

[ 3 ] Nature builds for itself a crystal imbued with wisdom. This crystal imbued with wisdom can delight us when we go out into nature. But at the same time, we must be clear that the gods had to die—not the earthly death, but the death of transformation, that is, the transition into the unconscious—in order to come to life again in the radiant crystal forms. And we must internalize today the realization that when we look out upon what appears to be dead, the life of the gods—which has lain unconscious in nature for millennia—shines out to meet us through it. We must find within our souls the capacity to feel and recognize this light, which can reach us from the sun, as the light of the gods, refreshing our hearts everywhere in nature.

[ 4 ] Let us seek today to sense the divine world of the soul—which has lain dormant for millennia—in all of the sky-illuminating nature that surrounds us! And there is indeed much, much for the soul to discover there. Today’s youth seek the ancient, ancient insights of humanity—those insights that were already connected to humanity in the ancient Saturnic ages, and which then, when the Solar and Lunar ages arrived, entered into a kind of world sleep, a dormant consciousness, in order to form, out of their own spiritual substance, the foundations for what constitutes earthly nature. And so earthly nature is actually, for the soul that merely senses this but cannot see through it to the spirit, like a blanket of snow even in summer for today’s youthful heart— shimmering, admittedly, with bright spiritual crystals, yet bearing within itself death—that is, unconsciousness—and calling upon the soul to perceive, deep beneath the soul’s icy crust, the living effects of the Word—originating from even more ancient times, blazing with fire, and radiating from the center of the Earth—emerging from the earthly-natural realm.

[ 5 ] It is a complex matter when it is articulated, but it is fundamentally simple when sought by today’s youth. And whenever a call to nature resounds, it springs from the soul of this youth. They then seek a remembrance, a connection with the divine source of all that is earthly and celestial. And that is what one senses when today’s youth once again seeks nature. There is something of the deepest cosmic karma in today’s youth, who seek nature and spirit—something of cosmic karma that can truly be grasped only in the seriousness of the soul.

[ 6 ] Let’s just think for a moment about how things were in the past—what we now call the Rousseau era; which we also experienced in Germany, in the era of Goethe and Schiller’s fervent devotion to nature, during the Sturm und Drang period—a movement that, however, had a far broader impact at the time than merely literary ones—let us think back to how the call to nature resounded in a literary and abstract way across vast swaths of civilization. Let us just imagine for a moment the intensely passionate appeals to nature that sprang from Rousseau’s soul. Yes, many are already moved today when they hear those calls to nature. But what has come of these calls to nature? “Nature, nature—we want it back,” the young people cried.

[ 7 ] Goethe himself exclaimed, in a manner almost as deliberate as that of an old man, that it is eerie to us: “Nature! We are surrounded and embraced by her... Uninvited and without warning, she draws us into the cycle of her dance...” — Goethe did not want to allow himself to become aware of what was emerging among the Rousseauists and others as a call to nature. And if one tries to empathize with the Goethe of that time, even today one still gets, from the way he felt about nature and how he approached the appeals of others, something like a faint shiver that runs over the surface of a person, and one feels the chill he experienced precisely at this call to nature. To Goethe, this call seemed unnatural in and of itself; it sought to be drawn into the cycle of nature’s dance without having been asked to do so, and he sensed that nature neither asks nor warns.

[ 8 ] Then, in the 19th century, that call for nature was fulfilled. It was knowledge—so-called knowledge of nature—that responded to the ceaseless call for nature in the most rigidly materialistic sense, not only with regard to understanding, but with regard to all life. A terrifying fulfillment of Rousseauism thus came in the 19th century like a realm of demons who first chuckled when the people around Rousseau and the others called for nature, and who then laughed scornfully, allowing nature to approach humanity in an Ahrimanic form—in the most extreme Ahrimanic form.

[ 9 ] That is the background. And when we then look toward the middle ground, we encounter the mood of tragic karma—that mood in which something lying deep within the souls of today’s youth rises into full consciousness only amid the greatest inner spiritual struggles, something that has lain there since the end of the Kali Yuga. Then this appeal to nature must be found; then the ancient workings of the gods must be found in all that grounds, flows, breathes, and burns within nature, and in all that shines, blows, and lives above nature. This ancient spirit of nature must be found. But how can we avoid what followed the call to nature in the 19th century—like a rain of wild demons, but also like a rain of wild delusions? It must not be so! The 20th century must not become a materialistic one! And so the voice of karma calls out in the souls of today’s young people: If you allow the 20th century to become materialistic, as the 19th was, then you will have lost much—not only of your own humanity but of the humanity of the entire civilization. — This is what one feels—and can feel again and again today in the most diverse ways—wherever youth groups gather, if one is able to hear such voices. This is also what, in a vague sense, gives many members of this youth movement such certainty—so that one can simultaneously perceive in their young souls a sense of vagueness, uncertainty, and a tendency to veer in one direction or another; and at the same time, emerging from this vagueness and uncertainty, a certainty that is not yet fully luminous but which carries a certain strength within it. But this strength must not be broken—it must not be broken. Anthroposophy, for its part, would also like to contribute to this, because it believes it can perceive the concrete spirit in every detail: in the roots of plants, in the workings of light above the plants, in the spiritual blessings of warmth flowing through the plants—because it believes that all this has been given to humanity as a kind of admonishing call: animality—because it believes that there is much to be healed within this animality. Animals are on Earth for the sake of human beings. In order for us to behave toward animals—as we do toward all of nature—in the proper way, it is necessary that we feel, sense, and ultimately recognize the individual spiritual beings within all of nature.

[ 10 ] This can also be felt today when there is a need not to speak generally about the spirit, but rather to seek the spiritual influence in the individual practices of modern agricultural and other natural enterprises. That is why I was deeply moved when you expressed the view that one or two ideas could still be exchanged today.

[A discussion then ensued.]

II

[ 11 ] You see, the situation is this: What still makes those who have already found their way into the anthroposophical spiritual movement feel, in a certain sense, uncertain time and again—what leads them to believe that they must seek strong supports in order to find the path to what they are seeking—the reason for this actually lies in the fact that young people who feel with all their hearts, we must seek the path to humanity in a new way in relation to the wisdom that has come down to us through the centuries, are almost always—at least due to external circumstances—thrown back into the old ways. What must obviously be unclear in our time following the Kali Yuga—that which has presented itself as humanity’s search, not overt in recent times but hidden, from “nature” into nature, from “spirit” into spirit—could not clearly come to the fore in one’s soul.

[ 12 ] You see, our dear friend Ritter spoke of how he was a farmer’s child and grew out of the peasantry. One could experience this transition away from peasant life in all its truly phenomenal significance precisely during that era—an era that was reflected when people like you weren’t even in the cradle yet, let alone many others sitting here. That era was already upon us—the time when uncertainty began. You see, the life of the peasant, as it unfolded over the centuries, is today, in essence, nothing more than a myth. For this life is, spiritually speaking, something entirely different from what natural science—or indeed civilization itself—embodies, having been lifted away from all of existence. The peasant was truly more spiritual than today’s scholar. And as early as the 1860s and 1870s of the last century, one could already sense how a certain kind of spirituality, alive precisely within peasant life, was dying out. One could often see how the farmers were gripped by the idea that their sons had to go to college. It was indeed a kind of peasant abstraction when, toward the last third of the 19th century, the idea arose that their sons had to go to college. This is something quite different from what peasant life used to be—the peasantry that truly lived in harmony with nature. Certainly, sons studied back then as well, but they did not study in the same sense as they did later, particularly in the last third of the 19th century. In the farmer’s consciousness, the sons did not study; rather, they became pastors. And becoming a pastor was linked to the farmer’s mindset; in the farmer’s mind, becoming a pastor meant seeking the path to the spirit. Seeking the spirit was what the farmer wanted when he sent his sons through the educational institutions. But in these educational institutions, they gradually became quite spiritually impoverished and spiritually empty during the last third of the 19th century. This also brought about a shift in the farmer’s mindset: the son must study—and this was gradually accompanied by another realization: the son will become a stranger to us; he will enter a completely different life; we will no longer have him.

[ 13 ] One can only hint at these things, for they could truly be understood only in the context of real life. And amid the general coarsening of life toward the end of the 19th century, there emerged precisely that aversion—an antipathy toward all things spiritual that at times turned into hatred—which was characteristic of the peasantry. I recall a very charming illustration from a farmers’ calendar, which was certainly conceived by a journalist, but one that, though conceived, was born out of the mood that prevailed in the 1870s and 1880s. In a certain region of Central Europe, what was then understood as a farmers’ union was established. Farmers banded together. And the representative of such a farmers’ union was depicted in this picture, in which he pulled a pointed cap down far over his ears and then said, “No lawyers, no teachers allowed in the farmers’ union.” You see, that was the prevailing sentiment—that people no longer knew what to make of scholarship in any field, not even in the field of theology. People considered themselves very clever for excluding conventional scholarship from the association.

[ 14 ] Well, that truly expressed a worldview that, toward the end of the 19th century, produced people who were, in fact, nothing more than “images.” People had essentially become mere images. With a few exceptions, there were no longer any people walking the earth—they were all images. And when the turn of the 19th to the 20th century came, the civilized world was not populated by human beings; it was populated by images. And the time had come when what was supposed to be truth was turned into its opposite in the strangest way. You see, back then it could sometimes break one’s heart to see the things that were presented as truths. Thus arose a doctrine that actively encouraged overpopulation in certain regions. And it was said: If a great many people are born, that is a sign that everything is going well—and people were actively encouraged to increase the population. In population growth, as it was understood back then, people sought to express something of true progress. If one viewed the whole matter from a spiritual perspective, one had to conclude: under the influence of such a worldview, more and more souls were coming down to Earth from the spiritual world—souls who had actually come down prematurely, who were spiritual premature births, and who, in essence, had not truly found Earth at all. People in the last third of the 19th century had not really found the Earth at all. They were on Earth without having found the essence of their being, and went about as appendages to their intellect. That was the terrible thing—that one saw people walking around as appendages to their intellect, not as human beings!

[ 15 ] And so came the 20th century, in which numerous souls were born who, in turn, just like the others, wandered about as shadows, as images, alien to nature; they felt the deepest deprivation in the face of these images of humanity and were compelled to seek once again that which is, after all, the human essence.

[ 16 ] But all sorts of external social institutions from those old times have remained, which young people are bound to perceive as a kind of oppressive influence on their souls. If we were able to shape external life just as we can awaken souls through anthroposophy, then things would be quite different; then people today would not constantly be saying that anthroposophy should now become “concrete,” but rather they would feel that anthroposophy could already be shaping the world if external forces did not intervene to hinder it. Just think about how we are developing today—especially how young people are developing today. Yes, Dr. Ritter had the opportunity to find a home for his development on a large estate which, I would say, had spiritually preserved itself within its grounds in Köfering, even as the world around it raged materialistically. That is quite a phenomenon. But consider this: there is always a phenomenon wherever you find an external refuge today for precisely what young people are seeking. In some way, what anthroposophy is must remain in the background, because in anthroposophy—unlike elsewhere—one does not strive for intellectual understanding or engage in study, but rather, in the best sense of the word, one becomes a “pastor” when one wishes to learn. And when this transition takes place in a remarkably rapid manner—from the old way of becoming a pastor, which has become a lie, to the new way of becoming a pastor—then this becomes particularly evident to one. . And it is indeed a remarkable path that has just unfolded, for example, in Köfering—one that you will understand best of all, and which you will be able to make comprehensible to yourselves in your own way—a path I would like to describe as the journey from the anthroposophical shaping of the landowner’s character to the anthroposophical shaping of the estate.

[ 17 ] We must learn to understand in our hearts what transforms the mind—which remains merely a concept, alien to nature—into the cultivated mind that, in turn, finds its way back into the natural world of facts. That is why, in this course, I have tried—I would say—to find the words based on actual experience. Today, the spirit cannot be found in any other way than by once again discovering the possibility of clothing it in words given by nature; in this way, the feelings will also grow strong again. You see, imagine this: if you transform what can already be known today—for the Michael era is here—what seemingly lives only in ideas, into genuine devotion, then you are on the very best path. You are on the very best path when you transform things into devotion. Yes, what wonders can then come of these things! To meditate means, after all, to transform what one knows into devotion—precisely these individual, concrete things. Of course, when one says such things as I have said many times now, one stands, I might say, in the light of a certain audacity. For those who have grown old not in a spiritual but in a conventional way as they entered the 20th century do not experience that very deep feeling one can have when one is compelled to describe the human brain as something that has developed in the same way—only in a slightly different direction—as manure. But sense this force entering into human beings: that the brain forms itself like a pile of manure. And also sense how, in the process of fertilization, this manure-like substance is returned to the world-creating forces, so that the Spirit can receive it there in a much higher sense than the human spirit can receive what is given to it from within in material form. Now look at this human being: he takes in the external substance; he has no idea what he is taking in from the outside—the plants, the cultivated plants—he is ignorant of what he is taking in from the outside. And now it begins to work within him through divine power. It begins to work even as he transforms what he receives from the outside into taste on his tongue. There he still holds on to something in the mere sensuality with which these things are transformed. Then it vanishes from consciousness, and something deeply wise emerges. All of this within the human being undergoes a transformation and ultimately leads to our ability to grasp the spirit, while what we have unconsciously processed in this way ends up in the dungheap that fills the underworld. Let us learn to think in such a way that we, as human beings, are truly compelled to hand this manure over to the world in the proper manner—so that we do not use it as if we were trying to make little machines for children out of compressed manure! For this is precisely how the human being of the present day uses his brain. He does not use his brain to fertilize the fields of the spirit so that the spirit can work upon these fields; he turns what is there into mechanisms. And you see, when one knows what the brain is intended for—to fertilize the fields of the spirit for the gods who descend to humanity—when one then feels that shy reverence that arises from such an inner contemplation of the matter, when one learns to sense what is happening right now in the unconscious and subconscious, and then proceeds to incorporate into one’s understanding the nature shaped in the image of humanity, to truly view it—along with the manure—as it is, then one sees how, within this, what is unconsciously at work in human beings slowly and gradually becomes conscious.

[ 18 ] Then one truly learns, through renewal, what was once lived only in the distant past—what faith was—and how so much of what had to be passed down from ancient, nature-imbued, clairvoyant times lives on, misunderstood, in the Romanism of more recent times; for example, a saying like this:

Natunralia non sunt tarpia.

[ 19 ] All things in nature are beautiful. If they do not appear beautiful, this stems from human beings, because they cannot see or smell the beauty. — And just consider what the mindset in this regard was in ancient times, and what it has been in modern times. Let’s look at the entire realm of Western culture. A large part of how nature is imitated there consists in washing. Certainly, washing is naturally very good, but the way washing is practiced today in those European-American regions effectively washes away all of nature itself. People lull themselves into a trance through this act of cleansing. One recalls how much washing was also done in Egypt. Egyptian purification is, after all, something that was somewhat forgotten in Greece, but which was still remembered when speaking of catharsis.

[ 20 ] All of this gives us the awareness that, once again, when we ascend through nature to the Earth’s surface, we are within the very heart of the cosmic being. And then we also regain that sensation which I have actually only experienced when, as a very small child, I spent time with miners—not coal miners, but miners who sought metals. Yes, there were still some among them who knew that when you descend into the earth, you encounter spirits that you do not find on the surface; there you encounter the organs through which the earth dreams and thinks of the universe. Back then, thinking was still something that lived within the earth. Back then, people still knew that when you look up, you see abstract stars; but when you become acquainted with what lies beneath the earth, you then see something in the universe that can be described as images—but images that come into being, that are truly living images. Back then, people lived out what had been such a desolate, lifeless form of knowledge at the end of the Kali Yuga, transforming it once again into something deeply attuned to feeling. If we can do this, then we will gradually free ourselves from the shackles that time has imposed on the abstract human being.

[ 21 ] That is why I must keep pointing out to you what it is that allows you, as young people, to connect so deeply and intensely. And that is precisely this: that you say to yourselves, “Anthroposophy emerged. It came among people who had evolved out of the godless thinking prevalent in their surroundings.” These people now encountered anthroposophy, and they also abstracted it. And so something took place that consisted in anthroposophy being well understood, but in a somewhat abstract mood by the older generation around the turn of the 20th century and into the 20th century; they actually already understood anthroposophy. And it is not a coincidental but a karmically necessary phenomenon that, in the history of our anthroposophical development, there was indeed a time when people came to us who had, in one way or another, received their retirement notice—people who, from the surrounding world, were entering their retirement years. What, do you think, must one—if one were responsible for anthroposophy—experience time and again? As long as people were caught up in the demands of civilization, they would say: “Yes, perhaps I can be of greater service to anthroposophy if I am not an anthroposophist.” “I’m quite drawn to it, but I can’t very well be an anthroposophist.” — And they would only come—often in that strangely intimate way—once they had retired. We have seen many people from precisely these circles find their way in, so that we have already experienced this as a certain tragedy.

[ 22 ] Then came the time when the older member was to take effect. It was the period beginning in the early 20th century—the very difficult time in the second decade of the 20th century—when the so-called “late Middle Ages” were to take effect. That failed! It failed—the so-called “late Middle Ages”—swaying back and forth between having been expelled from doctoral studies—and this could, of course, also be the case among the proletariat and the peasantry—swaying back and forth between having been expelled from doctoral studies and not yet having received one’s retirement certificate. It wavered like that its whole life; it could no longer find its bearings at all. It was completely immersed in anthroposophy, believing that actions had to arise from anthroposophy. Then came the necessity to move toward threefolding—to create a threefold structure in the economic sphere, in life, where spirit and nature could have lived. And that would indeed have come about if the threefolding had taken hold in people’s hearts. But it failed. One was working with human beings caught between their high school diploma and their retirement decree. That is the tragedy of these people.

[ 23 ] Well, it was impossible to make any progress. And especially after this gulf had opened up between retirees and those who no longer thought much of the medical degree or the high school graduation exam—who no longer held these exams in high regard, but merely obtained them out of habit, and who also didn’t imagine what people had strongly imagined in the sixties and seventies—namely, that one should actually view the matter in such a way that one doesn’t see people striding along in their spirit-filled blood, but rather that one should have them hanging somewhere on the wall, framed as a certificate. That mindset is no longer there. And when I encounter today’s youth, I often think of an old friend I once had. I had met him when he was already in his late fifties; he had made a name for himself in a small town; he was then sixty-four years old and, in a remarkable way, combined this age with his youth. For, as an eighteen-year-old, he had fallen in love with a girl, become engaged to her, and now, at his advanced age, wanted to marry her. But the church where his birth records were kept had burned down, so he could no longer obtain a birth certificate and had to give up on the marriage. For it was a time when one had to be registered somewhere, and one then had to obtain identification documents from various registries to prove that one existed. For people no longer cared whether one actually existed; they only cared that it was written down that one existed.

[ 24 ] Now the youth came along and simply could no longer believe in what was written on a doctoral diploma, a high school diploma, or other certificates, because they no longer believed that the person who issued them was competent. The time came when that warmest youthful striving unfolded in the deeper recesses of young souls—especially those of the proletariat—yet young people felt separated from the older generation as if by an abyss. The chasm that truly exists today in those who came of age at the beginning of the 20th century, between the ages of twenty-five and forty-eight. The opportunity was truly there for those who, in the early decade of the 20th century, lived through the period between the ages of twenty-five and forty-eight, to cease being human. All one had left were clothes. The late Middle Ages already constituted a kind of abyss. For today’s youth, it does not matter that anthroposophy is increasingly being transformed into abstractions, increasingly being converted into ideas, concepts, and even sciences. Now comes the youth who, in turn, simply want to feel and live all of this: through action—through an understanding of nature. But one cannot stop there. I would like to emphasize this with particular force today.

[ 25 ] It was said that the Sword of Michael was being forged. But there is also something else at stake. The point is that there is, in fact, this reality in the occult realm: that what must be prepared as the Sword of Michael must, during the forging process, be carried onto an altar that, outwardly, could not be visible—one that must lie underground, must truly lie underground. Coming to know the forces of nature beneath the earth leads to the understanding that the Sword of Michael, while being forged, must be carried to an altar that lies beneath the earth. There it must be found by receptive souls. It is essential that you participate by helping to ensure that the Sword of Michael is found by more and more souls. And it is not enough merely for it to be forged; something has only truly been accomplished once it is found. As young people, have the strong yet humble self-confidence that you are, indeed, karmically called to carry forth the Sword of Michael—to seek it and find it. Then you will have precisely what you are seeking at gatherings such as today’s. Then you will also recognize what I had to tell you about anthroposophy, about the difficulties faced by those who stood between their doctoral exams and the decree granting them a pension. And you will recognize—but now in a truly instinctive, pictorial way, so that the spirit of abstraction, this dreadful Ahrimanic spirit, cannot touch you either—think of this in powerful images—that two words have become united in the striving of youth, words that were actually no longer understood in the 19th century.

[ 26 ] When one hears the word “Wandervogel,” it evokes a certain feeling: does any well-traveled person today even know what wandering meant in the old days, or what a wanderer was? We must return to a more vivid, spiritual experience. Does anyone today, when faced with the world of birds, still realize that one must first go through what Siegfried had to go through in order to understand the language of the birds? Wandervögel—Wotan, Siegfried: that is what we must first feel and understand once more. One must first find the path from the abstract conception of the Wandervogel to Wotan, weaving in the wind, clouds, and waves of the Earth’s organism, and to the hidden language of the birds—a language one must come to know by first awakening within oneself the memory of Siegfried and the Sword of Siegfried, which was merely the prophetic foreshadowing of the Sword of Michael. One must find the path from the Wanderer to Wotan, find the way to believe once more, with an open and light heart, in the hidden language of the birds. They all sense the path from the Wandervogel to Wotan, to Siegfried. And if one can feel this deeply in one’s soul, one will also find the ability to perceive nature and to know these things. And if one then gains the ability to dream just a little, one will be able to live with the heavenly dreams in nature.

[ 27 ] This is something we do not initially think about, but rather something we can experience deeply and feel in our hearts. If you do this, you will form a community that is close to your heart, in which you will find—as you progress through various stages—exactly what you are seeking. Let us allow this to live in our consciousness; let us fill our souls with it!