The Rudolf Steiner Archive

2. The Night Person and the Day Person. Can the “I” Be Inserted into Pure Thought?

[ 1 ] Today I would like to begin by recounting a brief scene from the intellectual life of the 19th century, so that we may use it as a point of reference for the great changes that have taken place in the soul of Western humanity. As I have often emphasized: people today are strongly convinced that human beings have always thought, felt, and sensed just as they do now, or that, if they felt differently, this was simply due to childlike stages of development, and that it is only in the present, I would say, that humanity has advanced to the true maturity of thought. In order to truly understand human beings—the human condition—one must be able to transport oneself back to the way of thinking of earlier times, so as not to become overly self-assured and arrogant about what currently fills human souls. And when one then sees how, in the course of just a few decades, the thoughts and ideas held by educated people have completely changed, one will also be able to grasp how radically the inner life of human beings has transformed over long periods of time—a point to which we were compelled to draw attention once again yesterday.

[ 2 ] One of the best-known Hegelian thinkers of the 19th century is Karl Rosenkranz, who, after living in various places, served for a long time as a professor of philosophy at the University of Königsberg. Rosenkranz was a Hegelian, but his Hegelianism was, first of all, influenced by a careful study of Kant—he viewed Hegel, so to speak, through the lens of Kantianism—and, furthermore, it was strongly influenced by his study of Protestant theology. All of these elements—Protestant theology, Kantianism, and Hegelianism—converged in this man of the mid-19th century.

[ 3 ] Hegelianism, after all, disappeared from the field of vision of Central Europe’s educated classes in the last third of the 19th century, and it is hard to imagine just how deeply immersed in Hegelianism the thinking people of Central Europe were in the 1840s. That is why it is difficult today to even begin to imagine what it was actually like inside a soul such as that of Karl Rosenkranz.

[ 4 ] After all, Rosenkranz was a man who, in the 1940s, thought in the way that the educated mindset of the time expected of someone who had abandoned outdated, obsolete ways of thinking, who had embraced modern Enlightenment, and who was not superstitious in the sense that the 1940s understood it. One could think that Rosenkranz was the kind of person who, so to speak, was at the cutting edge of education at the time.

[ 5 ] Now, this Karl Rosenkranz—it was in the year 1843—was once out for a walk and, during that walk, met a man named Bon, with whom he struck up a conversation that was so interesting to him—to Rosenkranz—that Rosenkranz recorded it. Bon was a Thuringian, but by no means—in the sense that Rosenkranz was, for example—a man who had completely outgrown his time. For his part, Bon probably thought of Rosenkranz as someone who was obsessed with the latest ideas; he likely regarded him as a man who, while in a certain sense free of prejudice, no longer understood the good old wisdom that he, Bon, still possessed.

[ 6 ] And so these two—as I said, it was in the year 1843—struck up a conversation. Bon had been educated at the University of Erlangen, where he was primarily a student of the philosopher Schubert, who had a somewhat pietistic bent but was still imbued with the wisdom of earlier times—a wisdom that placed great emphasis on entering into the very essence of the human being through special, dreamlike states of consciousness. Schubert was a man who held the traditional ancient wisdom in very high regard and who believed that unless one could, through a meaningful inner life, bring something of that good old wisdom to life within oneself, one could not truly know anything about human beings through the new wisdom. In this regard, Schubert’s works are extraordinarily interesting. Schubert took great pleasure in delving into the various manifestations of human dream life, including abnormal states of the soul—what we might call today the states of a non-deceptive medium, or the states of that clairvoyance which had been preserved, as it were, atavistically from ancient times; in short, into the abnormal states of the soul, as opposed to its fully waking states. Through this, he sought to gain insight into human nature.

[ 7 ] One of Schubert’s students was Bon. But then Bon had come here to Switzerland and embraced a spiritual way of life here that most Swiss people today probably have no idea ever existed here. Bon had, in fact, embraced what is known as Gichtelianism in Switzerland. I do not know how much is still known among today’s Swiss about the fact that Gichtelianism was quite widespread; not only in the rest of Europe—it was, after all, well established in the Netherlands in the mid-19th century, for example—but it was also quite widespread in Switzerland.

[ 8 ] This Gichtelianism was, in fact, what remained of Jakob Böhme’s teachings in the 19th century—and throughout the 18th century as well—but had persisted into the 19th century. And in the form in which Gichtel presented Jakob Böhme’s teachings, those teachings then spread to many regions, including here in Switzerland, and that is where Bon became acquainted with Gichtelianism.

[ 9 ] Well, Rosenkranz had read extensively, and even if his Kantianism, Hegelianism, and Protestant theology prevented him from engaging in an inwardly active way with something like Jakob Böhme’s teachings or their softening in Gichtel, he at least understood the terminology, and he was interested in how such a peculiar person—a Gichtelian—spoke.

[ 10 ] Now, as mentioned—Rosenkranz recorded this conversation, which took place in 1843—they apparently began by discussing a topic that was not all that difficult to understand for either 19th-century Kantians or Hegelianists. In the course of the conversation, Rosenkranz remarked that it is actually rather inconvenient, when one wants to think deeply about any problem, to be disturbed by all sorts of external distractions.

[ 11 ] I would say that when Rosenkranz says this, one already senses something of what would later emerge to a much greater degree: the nervousness of the age. One need only recall that among the many associations that formed in Central Europe in the prewar period, there was one that originated in Hanover—an association against noise. The aim was to push for laws against noise so that, for example, one could sit quietly in the evening, lost in thought, without being disturbed by noise from a neighboring tavern. There are magazine articles that promoted this anti-noise association. The intention to establish such an anti-noise association is, of course, entirely a product of our nervous age. So one senses from Karl Rosenkranz’s speech that one can be so unpleasantly disturbed by all sorts of things going on in the surroundings when one wants to think, or even when one wants to write a book. One can already sense something of this nervousness. And Bon seems to have had quite a lot of sympathy for the complaint of a man who wants to think undisturbed, and he then said to Rosenkranz: Yes, he could recommend something good to him—namely, the inconvenience.

[ 12 ] Rosenkranz was completely taken aback. He was now supposed to practice dealing with discomfort; Bon advised him to learn to cultivate a sense of discomfort within himself. “Yes,” said Rosenkranz, “it is certainly unpleasant when you’re constantly being disturbed by all sorts of things.” — “That’s not what I mean,” said Bon. — And now Bon explained to Rosenkranz what he actually meant by “discomfort.” He said: “You must ensure that you become so firmly grounded within yourself that you are not disturbed in your own constellation by the tumult of other events in your surroundings, so that the pure tincture within your own astrum can develop.”

[ 13 ] Well, Bon had learned this here in Switzerland from the Gichtelians: that one should take care not to be disturbed in one’s own constellation by the turmoil of other events in the surroundings, so that the pure essence of one’s own astrum might be preserved. As I said, Rosenkranz understood the terms. I believe that today, not even everyone who aspires to be a truly learned person understands these terms anymore.

[ 14 ] What, then, did Bon, a follower of Gichtel, actually mean back then? Well, you see, Bon was simply living within the ideas passed down from Jakob Böhme. I recently described this Jakob Böhme a little. I said that he gathered the wisdom that had remained folk-based from all aspects of folk culture. He absorbed a great deal from this folk wisdom—more than one would believe today. This folk wisdom has even been preserved in many cases among so-called reflective people in expressions such as those I just quoted from Bon. And these expressions allowed one to envision something that possessed a certain inner vitality. Traditions were still present of what an earlier humanity had absorbed through the clairvoyance of those times. This earlier clairvoyance, after all, consisted of forces that arose from the physical nature of human beings. One need not therefore say that this ancient clairvoyance lived in the physical realm. That would be to overlook the fact that everything physical is permeated by the spiritual. But in reality, the ancient clairvoyant drew from the forces of his physicality what he had set before his soul in his dreamlike imaginings. What pulsed in the blood, what surged in the breath, even what lived in the transforming substances of the body—all of this, in a sense, rose spiritually into the spiritual realm and gave the ancient clairvoyant magnificent worldviews, as I have often described here. This ancient clairvoyance was, in fact, drawn entirely from the physical realm.

[ 15 ] And what was revealed to one there, as one lived—as if one were sensing the entire world, so to speak, in a violet light, sensing oneself as a unified violet cloud in violet light, so that one felt completely at one with oneself—that was called the “tincture.” And one perceived this as one’s own, as that which was intrinsically connected to one’s own organism. One perceived it as one’s own astrum. Bon, a follower of Gichtel, described this inner essence drawn from the body as the pure tincture of one’s own astrum.

[ 16 ] But the time had already come—in fact, it had long since come—when people could no longer draw such things from their physical nature. The time when the old form of clairvoyance was, in fact, no longer suited to human beings had long since come. That is why people like Jakob Böhme or Gichtel felt that it was difficult to bring these old ideas to life again. Human beings had simply lost the ability to live within these old ideas. They vanished, as it were, the moment they arose. People felt insecure within this state, and so they sought to do everything possible to hold on to these fleeting inner images, which still arose, I might say, through the inner resonance of the old words. And just as they felt within themselves the pure essence of their astrum, so they felt that whenever anything else approached, it immediately displaced those images. This “other”—that which lived spiritually in the things and events of the surroundings—was called Turba. And people did not want this Turba to disturb their own constellation, that is, the state of their soul, in which they could remain when they truly immersed themselves in the inner sound of the old words, so that, in a sense, they could hold fast to their humanity by preserving this traditional inner life. Therefore, one strove not to accept anything external, but to live within oneself. One made oneself “unapproachable,” so that one did not need to accept anything from the outside.

[ 17 ] Bon described this inconvenience—life itself—to Rosenkranz in the way I have just explained to you. But you see, this actually offers a glimpse into the inner life of a bygone era, one that still existed within the circles of Gichtelianism in the mid-19th century—though it was already in its twilight, on the verge of fading away. For what was fading away there was once an inner participation in the divine-spiritual world through dreamlike, luminous images, through which human beings felt themselves to be much more like heavenly beings than earthly ones.

[ 18 ] And the prerequisite for that ancient state of mind was that human beings had not yet developed the pure thinking of more recent times. This pure thinking of more recent times—which was actually first discussed with full awareness in my *Philosophy of Freedom*—is something for which there is still not much sense of it today. It is this pure thinking that first took shape in the natural sciences.

[ 19 ] Let us consider a branch of natural science that particularly illustrates what is to be said here: astronomy. Through Copernicus, astronomy became purely a “world mechanics,” a kind of description of the machinery of the world. Previously, there were still notions that spiritual beings were embodied in the stars. Medieval scholasticism still speaks of the spiritual essence of the stars, of the intelligences that inhabit the stars, that are embodied in the stars, and so on. The idea that everything out there is material, devoid of thought—that human beings merely reflect on it—is a relatively recent development. In the past, people formed images—images that were connected to their conception of a star or constellation. They saw something living, something weaving its own existence within it. It was not pure thought, but something soulfully alive that connected human beings to their environment. But in this environment, human beings first developed pure thought.

[ 20 ] I have said here before that older people also had thoughts, but they received those thoughts at the same time as their clairvoyance; they received clairvoyant images from their surroundings, and then they drew their thoughts from those clairvoyant perceptions. The people of old did not derive pure thoughts directly from external things. This is the distinctive feature of modern times: that human beings are learning to comprehend the world through thought alone. And it is through this comprehension of the world that human beings first develop this pure thinking.

[ 21 ] But there is something else connected with all these things. Those people to whom such a thing still points back—as Bon said to Rosenkranz—did not experience sleep in the same way that the purely rational modern person experiences it. The purely rational modern person experiences sleep as a state of unconsciousness, interrupted at most by dreams, which he rightly does not think much of. For given the state of the human soul in modern times, dreams have little value. They are generally reminiscences of inner or outer life and have no particular value in terms of their content. Thus, what is actually most characteristic of sleep is unconsciousness. This was not always the case. And Jakob Böhme himself was still quite familiar with a kind of sleep in which consciousness was filled with genuine insights into the structure of the world.

[ 22 ] A man like Jakob Böhme, and also Gichtel, who immersed himself in such a state of mind with great diligence, said: Well, if one observes sensory objects with one’s eyes, perceives the world with the other senses, and then uses one’s thoughts to further grasp what one has perceived with the senses, then one can indeed experience all sorts of beautiful things about the world; but the true mysteries of the world are not revealed to one in this way. Only the outward image of the world is made known.

[ 23 ] As mentioned, Jakob Böhme and Gichtel were familiar with such states of consciousness in which they were neither asleep nor merely dreaming, but in which their consciousness was filled with insights into the true mysteries of the world that lie hidden behind the sensory world. And they valued these states more highly than what their senses and intellect could perceive. Mere thinking, for these people, was not yet anything significant. But the opposite was also present for them: namely, the awareness that a human being can perceive without their body. For in such states of consciousness—which were neither sleep nor dreaming—they knew at the same time that the true human being had, to a large extent, torn itself away from its body, yet had taken with it the power of the blood and the power of breathing. And so they knew: Because human beings are inwardly connected to the world, but their waking body obscures this connection, human beings can—when they make themselves to a certain extent independent of this waking body—gain insight into the mysteries of the world through the finer forces of this body, which, as I have explained, the ancient clairvoyants drew out of the body.

[ 24 ] But in this way, precisely when a person entered such special states of sleep, they became aware of what sleep actually is. People like Jakob Böhme or Gichtel told themselves: When I sleep, I am also present in the finer nature outside with the finer aspects of my being. I immerse myself in the finer realm of nature.

[ 25 ] They felt themselves to be immersed in this finer nature. And when they were awake, they knew: That which I, as my finer human being, had been in the finer nature during sleep—even during unconscious sleep—also lives within me while I am awake. I fill my body with this when I feel, when I think—which at that time was by no means yet pure thinking. So when I form images in my mind, this finer humanity lives within those images.

[ 26 ] In short, it had real significance for these people when they said: “What I am in sleep continues to live within me even while I am awake.” And they felt, as it were, the pulse of sleep continuing to flow through them like a spiritual blood in their waking states of consciousness.

[ 27 ] A person like Jakob Böhme or Gichtel would say to himself: “Even when I am awake, I am still sleeping.” For what takes place within me during sleep continues to have an effect even while I am awake. This was a different experience from that of modern man, who has now moved on to mere thinking—to pure intellectual thinking. This modern man wakes up in the morning and draws a sharp line of separation between what he was in sleep and what he now is in wakefulness. He carries nothing over from sleep into his waking life, so to speak. As soon as they begin to wake, they cease to be what they were in sleep. Indeed, modern humanity has grown out of precisely such states of consciousness as still existed in a person like Bon, who was a Gichtelian, and in doing so has brought to fruition something that had actually been present in embryonic form since the first third of the 15th century. It has realized this by transitioning, in waking daily life, to mere intellectualistic thinking. This, after all, dominates all people today. They no longer think in images. They regard images as mythology, as I said yesterday. They think in thoughts, and they sleep in nothingness.

[ 28 ] Yes, that actually has a rather profound meaning: these modern people sleep in nothingness. For Jakob Böhme, for example, it would not have made much sense at all to say, “I sleep in nothingness.” For modern people, it has come to make sense to say, “I sleep in nothingness.” I am not nothing when I sleep; I retain my “I” and my astral body while sleeping. I am not nothing, but I tear myself away from the entire world that I perceive with my senses and comprehend with my waking mind. During modern sleep, I also detach myself from the world that, for example, Jakob Böhme saw in special, abnormal states of consciousness using the finer forces of the physical and etheric bodies, which he still carried with him into his sleep states.

[ 29 ] Modern human beings, while sleeping, detach themselves not only from their sensory world but also from the world that was the world of the ancient clairvoyant. And in the world in which the human being then finds himself—from the moment of falling asleep until waking up—he cannot perceive anything, for that is a world of the future; it is the world into which the Earth will transform under those conditions that I have described in my *Secret Science* as the Jupiter, Venus, and Vulcan states. So in fact, modern man, who is trained in intellectualistic thinking—forgive the expression—lives in nothingness during sleep. He is not nothing—I must emphasize this again and again—but he lives in nothingness because he cannot yet experience that in which he lives: the world of the future. For him, it is still nothing. But it is precisely because modern humans can sleep in nothingness that their freedom is guaranteed; for from the moment they fall asleep until they wake up, they immerse themselves in liberation from the entire world, in nothingness. It is precisely during sleep that they become independent. It is very important to realize that the particular way in which modern humans sleep provides them with the guarantee of their freedom.

[ 30 ] The ancient seer, who perceived the old world—not the world of the future—who perceived the old world, could not become a completely free human being, for he became dependent on this perception. It is this resting in nothingness during sleep that truly sets modern human beings—the people of the modern age—free.

[ 31 ] Thus, there are two counter-images for modern man. First, while awake, he lives in thought, which is a mere thought that no longer contains images in the old sense; as mentioned, he regards these as mythology. And while asleep, he lives in nothingness. Through this, he frees himself from the world; through this, he attains the consciousness of freedom. The images of thought cannot compel him, because they are mere images. Just as mirror images cannot compel or cause anything, so too the mental images of things cannot compel man to do anything. Therefore, when a person grasps his moral impulses in pure thought, he must follow them as a free being. No emotion, no passion, no internal physical process can cause him to follow those moral impulses that he is capable of grasping in pure thought. But he is also capable of following these mere mental images, of following this pure thought, because during sleep he finds himself freed from all natural laws within his own physical body; because during sleep he truly becomes a pure, free soul capable of following the unreal nature of thought; whereas the older person remained dependent on the world even during sleep and therefore could not have followed unreal impulses.

[ 32 ] Let us first consider that modern man possesses this duality: he can have pure thoughts that are conceived in a purely intellectual manner, and a sleep spent in nothingness, where he is present, where he is a reality, but where his surroundings present him with nothingness. For now comes the essential point. You see, it is also rooted in the nature of modern man that, through everything he has gone through, he has become inwardly weak-willed. Modern man does not want to admit this at all, but it is true: modern man has become inwardly weak-willed. If one were only willing, one could also understand this historically. One need only look at the powerful spiritual movements that spread in the past, and at the impulses of will with which, let us say, the founders of religions sometimes worked throughout the world. This inner impulsiveness of will has been lost to modern humanity. And that is why modern people allow their thoughts to be shaped by the external world. They observe nature and form their purely intellectual thoughts based on natural processes and beings, as if their inner being were truly nothing more than a mirror that reflects everything. Indeed, human beings have become so weak that they are seized by a hopeless fear whenever someone generates a thought from within themselves, rather than merely deriving thoughts from what external nature presents. Thus, pure thinking has initially developed in a wholly passive manner in modern human beings.

[ 33 ] I do not say this as a criticism; for if humanity had immediately proceeded to actively produce pure thought, it would have introduced all manner of impure fantasies from its ancient heritage into that thought. It was, in fact, a beneficial educational tool for modern humanity that people allowed themselves to be led astray—and indeed seduced—by grandiose philistines, such as Bacon of Verulam, into developing their concepts and ideas solely in relation to the external world, allowing everything to be dictated to them by the external world. And so people have gradually become accustomed not to live within their own concepts and ideas—within their very thinking—but to have their thinking dictated to them by the external world. Some receive this directly—those who observe nature or study historical documents. They form their own thoughts directly about nature and history. These thoughts then live within them. Others receive it only through school. After all, people today are bombarded from the earliest childhood onward by the school system with concepts that have been passively derived from the external world.

[ 34 ] In this respect, modern man is actually a kind of sack, except that his opening is on the side. Through it, he takes in everything from the external world and reflects it within himself. These then become his ideas. In fact, his soul is filled only with concepts of nature. He is a sack. If modern man were to examine where he gets his concepts from, he would realize this. Some acquire them directly—those who have actually observed nature in one field or another—but most have absorbed them entirely in school; their concepts have been implanted in them.

[ 35 ] For centuries, ever since the 15th century, people have been raised in this passivity of concepts. And today, they already regard it as a kind of sin when they are inwardly active, forming their own thoughts. Yes, one cannot create thoughts about nature on one’s own. One would only taint nature with all sorts of fanciful imaginings if one were to create such thoughts oneself. But one has within oneself the source of thought. One can form one’s own thoughts; indeed, one can imbue the thoughts one already has—since they are, after all, merely thoughts—with inner reality. When does this happen? It happens when a person mustered enough willpower to push their “night self” back into their waking life—so that they do not merely think passively, but instead incorporate into their thoughts the aspect of themselves that has become independent during sleep. This can only be done with pure thoughts.

[ 36 ] In fact, this was the central idea of my *Philosophy of Freedom*—that I drew attention to the fact that modern human beings can truly insert their “I-being” into the thinking they have acquired. That “I-essence”—which, though I could not yet put it into words at the time, is nevertheless true—that which modern human beings liberate during sleep can be integrated into pure thinking. And thus human beings become truly conscious of their “I-essence” in pure thinking when they grasp thoughts in such a way that they actively, dynamically live within them.

[ 37 ] Now, there is something else connected with this. Let us suppose that anthroposophy is presented according to the model of modern natural science. People take in anthroposophy; at first, they take it in the way modern people are accustomed to, through passive thinking. One can understand it, provided one’s common sense is sound; one does not need to rely on mere faith. If one’s common sense is sound, one can understand the ideas. But one nevertheless lives passively within them, just as one lives passively within the external ideas of natural science. Then one comes and says: “Yes, I have these ideas from anthroposophical research, but I cannot stand up for them myself, because I have merely taken them in”—as some people like to say today: “I have taken them in from the spiritual-scientific side.” — We hear this emphasized so often: “Natural science says this,” and then we hear this or that from the field of spiritual science. What does it indicate when someone says, “I hear this from the field of spiritual science”? It means they are pointing out that they remain in passive thinking, that they wish to absorb spiritual science only through passive thinking. For the moment someone resolves to generate within themselves the thoughts that anthroposophical research conveys to them, they also become capable of standing up for their truth with their whole personality, for through this they experience the first stage of their truth.

[ 38 ] In other words: people today have generally not yet managed to use the strength of their will to infuse the reality they experience as an independent reality during sleep into their waking thoughts. If one wishes to become an anthroposophist in the sense of taking in anthroposophical ideas and then not simply surrendering to them passively, but rather, through a strong will, infusing into the thoughts—into the pure thoughts of anthroposophy—that which one is during every night in dreamless sleep, then one has climbed the first step of what one is justified in calling clairvoyance; then one lives clairvoyantly within the thoughts of anthroposophy. One should read a book with the strong will not merely to carry one’s daily life into the anthroposophical book, not to read in this way: a bit the day before yesterday, then stop; yesterday, then stop; today, then stop, and so on. People today read only with one aspect of their lives, namely their daily life. Of course, one can read Gustav Freytag that way; one can also read Dickens that way; one can read Emerson that way—but not an anthroposophical book. When you read an anthroposophical book, you must enter into it with your whole being, and because you are unconscious during sleep—that is, you have no thoughts—but the will continues, you must enter into it with your will. If you will what lies in the words of a true anthroposophical book, then through this willing you will at least become immediately clairvoyant in thought. And you see, this will must also penetrate those who represent our anthroposophy! When this will strikes like a bolt of lightning into those who represent our anthroposophy, then anthroposophy will be able to be represented to the world in the right way. This does not require any kind of magic, but rather an energetic will that carries more than just the fragments of daily life into a book. Today, incidentally, people no longer even read works with this kind of full immersion in life; rather, when reading the newspaper, it is enough to devote a few minutes each day to actively taking in what is there. You don’t even need the entire waking day for that. But when you immerse your whole being in a book that stems from anthroposophy, it comes alive within you.

[ 39 ] But this is precisely what should be taken into account, especially by those who are to be leaders within the Anthroposophical Society. For it does the Anthroposophical Society immense harm when it is said: “Yes, anthroposophy is proclaimed by people who cannot stand up for it.” — We must move beyond the mere passive, intellectualistic experience of anthroposophical truths to finding a complete immersion of our whole being in these truths. Then the proclamation of anthroposophy will not take on that half-hearted form where one merely says: “We are assured from the perspective of spiritual science—” but rather, one will be able to proclaim the anthroposophical truth as one’s own experience, at least initially in the areas closest to human life—for example, in the field of medicine, physiology, biology, the external sciences, or external social life. Even if the realms of the higher hierarchies do not become accessible at this first stage of clairvoyance, what exists as spirit in our immediate surroundings can, in this way, truly become a subject of the human soul’s present condition. And it depends on the will, in the broadest sense, whether people will emerge within our Anthroposophical Society who can bear witness to this—a valid witness, because it is felt directly, experienced as a living source of truth—a valid, living witness to the inner truth of Anthroposophy.

[ 40 ] This is also connected to what the Anthroposophical Society needs: that personalities must emerge within it who, to use a paradoxical expression, have the good will to will. Today, people call any arbitrary desire “will”; but a desire is not will. Some people would like something to turn out a certain way. That is not will. Will is an active force. That is lacking today to a very great extent. It is lacking in people today. But it must not be lacking within the Anthroposophical Society. There, calm enthusiasm must be able to be anchored in strong will. This, too, is one of the conditions for the life of the Anthroposophical Society.