The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Report on the Work and Impressions from the Trip to England

[ 1 ] My dear friends, this evening I would like to tell you a bit about the journey, and then give a lecture tomorrow—since I will have to spend next week in Stuttgart—and go into some details that may be more closely related in content to the topics I will be addressing today as part of my account of the journey.

[ 2 ] The journey began in Ilkley, in the north of England, where an educational course was to be held—a course that focused on Waldorf school methodology and didactics in relation to contemporary civilization. Ilkley is located in the north of England and is a town with a population of about 8,000. Currently, there is a trend in England to hold what might be called “summer schools” in such places during the summer months, and this course was initially organized in the form of such a summer school.

[ 3 ] The course should be accompanied by what we have developed artistically as eurythmy within the anthroposophical movement, and it should also be accompanied by what six of our Waldorf school teachers were able to offer, based on what was just said in the individual lectures.

[ 4 ] Ilkley is a place that is generally regarded as a sort of summer retreat, yet it lies in the immediate vicinity of cities that truly immerse one in what constitutes industrial-commercial culture in our time. Leeds is right nearby, as are other places—Bradford, for example—and Manchester isn’t far away either; these are cities that thoroughly reflect the way of life that has emerged from the present. One really has a sense there that makes it very clear how strongly the present needs a spiritual influence—a spiritual influence that is not, however, limited to giving individual people something to meet their immediate, individual, and personal spiritual needs. It is certainly as justified as can be to view the anthroposophical movement precisely in this light, but I am now speaking of the impressions that are truly imposed upon one by today’s external world.

[ 5 ] You see, my dear friends, the fact is that one would consider it extraordinary—I would even call it a cultural paradox—if someone were to recommend adding indigestible mineral products—let’s say any minerals, stones, and so on—to human food, that is, if one were to regard it as possible to add sand or the like to human food. Based on our understanding of the human organism, we are compelled to regard this as impossible. Yet anyone who is able to look more deeply into the structure of the world and the interrelationships within it—and this may be said once and for all out of genuine anthroposophical feeling and perception—will perceive in a special way a arrangement of houses and factories in a style that, so to speak, offers nothing at all to human aesthetic needs — as is the case, for example, in Leeds, where unbelievable-looking black houses are lined up in an abstract manner, where everything actually looks as if it were a direct condensation of the blackest coal dust that has clumped together and taken the form of houses in which people now make their homes. When one considers this in the context of cultural development—of the development of civilization for all of humanity—with the same mindset as what I just said regarding the sand in the stomach, one feels compelled to say: It is just as impossible for human civilization that such a thing could become a permanent feature of the entire course of human development and that, in the process, human civilization could somehow progress internally.

[ 6 ] Now, it is certainly not a matter of ever being a reactionary on anthroposophical ground. Of course, one need not speak of these things in a negative sense. These things have simply emerged from the course of the Earth’s entire evolution. But they are only possible within human evolution if they are permeated and infused by a genuine spiritual life—if spiritual life actually penetrates these very things and is gradually able to elevate them, at least in part, to a kind of aesthetic, so that people do not completely lose touch with their inner lives simply because these things become part of cultural development.

[ 7 ] And I would like to say: It is precisely from such an experience that one comes to recognize the absolute necessity of spiritual impulses penetrating our present civilization. These things cannot simply be understood as general ideas that one forms for oneself; rather, they must truly be understood in connection with what exists in the world. But one must have a heart for what is in the world!

[ 8 ] Ilkley itself is a place whose atmosphere, on the one hand, is shaped by its proximity to these other, purely industrial cities; on the other hand, it does indeed possess—albeit only in traces—something in the surrounding remnants of dolmens and ancient Druid altars that evokes an ancient spirituality which has no immediate successor there. It is—I would say—moving to observe how, on the one hand, one has the impression I have just described, and on the other hand, in this —I would say, a region thoroughly permeated by the echoes of those impressions—and then, at the extraordinarily characteristic spots where they are always found, comes upon the remains of the ancient sacrificial altars bearing the corresponding symbols—there is something extraordinarily moving about it. There is, for example, such a hill near Ilkley, with such a stone at the top, and on this stone—essentially, though it is actually somewhat more complicated—but essentially, what is known as a swastika, which was engraved on the stones that were once placed at specific sites and which points to something very specific: it points to how, at these sites, the Druid priests were imbued with those thoughts that, let’s say two to three millennia ago, were the creative force behind the culture in these regions. For when one enters such a site today and stands before a boulder bearing these engraved symbols, one can still perceive from the entire setting that one is standing in the very spot where the Druid priest once stood, and where he felt compelled to engrave this symbol—expressing through it the consciousness that arose from his sense of dignity.

[ 9 ] For what does one read in this symbol when standing before such a stone? One reads the words that were in the heart of the druid priest: Behold, the eye of sensuality gazes upon the mountains, gazes upon the dwelling places of humankind; the eye of the spirit, the lotus flower, the turning lotus flower—for its symbol is the swastika—gazes into the hearts of humankind, gazes into the innermost depths of the soul. And through this gaze, I wish to be connected with those entrusted to me as a congregation. — Just as one reads a text from a book, so, in a sense, one reads this while standing before such a stone.

[ 10 ] That is roughly the context in which the Ilkley Conference was held. It consisted of my giving lectures every morning, which this time, above all, sought to draw out the pedagogy and didactics of the Waldorf School from the entire historical development of the art of education. This time, I began with the way in which the art of education emerged from general Greek life in Greek culture, as can be seen from the fact that, strictly speaking, no special methods or practices should be invented for the school, but rather that the school should impart what is contained in general culture.

[ 11 ] It is certainly true that it is not right, for example, to use the Fröbelian method in preschools—though I certainly don’t mean to criticize Fröbel! — to invent special practices for doing this or that with the children, practices that are not connected to general cultural life and have not grown out of it. Rather, the right approach is for the educator to be directly immersed in general cultural life, to have a heart and mind attuned to it, and then to incorporate into their educational methods—drawn from everyday life—those very elements into which the person being educated is later to grow.

[ 12 ] And so I wanted to show how pedagogy and didactics must grow out of our lives—which are now imbued with the spirit. This provided an opportunity to shed light on the Waldorf school method from yet another perspective. What I just mentioned was, of course, only a starting point; what was at issue was then an examination of Waldorf school pedagogy, with which you are, of course, familiar.

[ 13 ] This was followed by a eurythmy performance by the children of the Kings Langley School and eurythmy performances at the local Ilkley Theater by the eurythmy artists who had traveled with us. It would probably have been better if the latter had taken place first, so that the arrangement itself would have made it immediately clear how what is practiced as eurythmy at the school also grows out of eurythmy as an art form that is part of the school’s cultural life. Well, these things will settle into place in the future, so that even in terms of the external arrangements, a picture will then be presented of what is actually intended.

[ 14 ] Third, so to speak, came the contributions of those who had been involved as teachers at the Waldorf School. And it really must be said that the greatest possible interest was shown in this cause. I must say, for example, that the way in which Dr. von Baravalle presented his ideas was extraordinarily moving for anyone who cares deeply about the development of the Waldorf School. When one saw how Dr. von Baravalle simply explained his geometric concepts—as they apply to children—using the method you are surely familiar with from his book on physical and mathematical methods, and how then, from what one might call an artistic-mathematical development arising from the transformation and metamorphosis of surfaces — the Pythagorean theorem suddenly emerged with an inner drama—and then, after the audience had been guided step by step and didn’t really know where it was all leading, to see how a number of shapes were continually shifted until, finally, through the shifting of the shapes on the blackboard, the Pythagorean theorem was vividly demonstrated. There was a deep sense of wonder among this audience of teachers, a profound and dramatic unfolding of thoughts and feelings, and I would say there was such honest, sincere enthusiasm for this method being introduced into the school that it was truly moving—just as, in general, what our teachers presented aroused the most extraordinary interest. We had brought along student work consisting of sculptural pieces, handmade toys, paintings, and so on—it aroused the greatest interest when we described how the children work on these projects and how they fit into the school’s overall curriculum.

[ 15 ] The way music lessons were taught, as interpreted by Miss Lämmert, attracted the greatest possible attention, as did Dr. Schwebsch’s discussions. The compelling, yet loving manner of Dr. von Heydebrand, and then the powerful style of our Dr. Karl Schubert; all of these are things that truly demonstrated that it is possible to bring the essence of the Waldorf school system vividly to life for a teaching staff. Miss Röhrle then gave a eurythmy lesson for various participants, which also served as a good complement, so that the whole event was quite well summarized from a pedagogical standpoint. I can say this because I had absolutely no involvement in putting together the program. All of this was organized by our English friends in such a way that it truly provided a very fine summary of the pedagogical subject matter.

[ 16 ] Throughout the conference, a committee was formed that set itself the task of establishing an independent school in England modeled after the Waldorf School. The prospects are actually very good that such a school can be established as a day school alongside Kings Langley School, which had already agreed last year—following my lectures at Oxford—to incorporate the Waldorf school methodology. As I mentioned, it was the children of Kings Langley School who had presented a performance at the theater in Ilkley of what they had learned in eurythmy. The interest shown and the way these things were received—including how warmly the eurythmy performances were received—is something that can truly be a source of great satisfaction. — This was during the first half of August, up to August 18. Then we traveled on to Penmaenmawr.

[ 17 ] Penmaenmawr is a town located in North Wales, on the west coast of England, where the island of Anglesey lies offshore, and this Penmaenmawr is a place that could not have been better chosen this year for this anthroposophical undertaking. For Penmaenmawr is imbued with an astral atmosphere that can be experienced directly—an atmosphere into which took shape that which originated from the Druidic cult, traces of which can indeed be found everywhere there. It lies directly on the seashore, as mentioned, where the island of Anglesey lies just offshore; a bridge leads across to it—a bridge that, incidentally, is a marvel of engineering. On one side, hills and mountains rise all around Penmaenmawr, and scattered across these mountains are the remains of the ancient so-called sacrificial altars, cromlechs, and so on; traces of this ancient Druidic cult are found everywhere there.

[ 18 ] These individual, scattered ritual structures—if I may call them that—appear to be arranged in the simplest possible way. When viewed from the side, they consist of stones lined up in a square or rectangle, with a stone lying on top. So, when viewed from above, these stones would stand like this [see drawing], and a stone lies on top of them, enclosing the whole structure like a small chamber.

[ 19 ] Certainly, such objects also served as funerary monuments. But I would like to point out that, in earlier times, the function of a funerary monument was universally linked to a much broader cultic practice. And so I will not hesitate to articulate here what such a place of worship can teach us.

[ 20 ] You see, these stones enclose a sort of small chamber; a capstone lies above it. This small chamber is, in a certain sense, dark. So when the sun’s rays fall upon it, the outer physical light remains outside. But sunlight is, of course, permeated everywhere by a spiritual current. This spiritual current continues onward; it flows into this dark space. And as a result of his initiation, the Druid priest had the ability to see through the Druid stones and to perceive both the downward-flowing current—not that of the physical sunlight, for that was blocked off—but that of what lives spiritually and soulfully within the physical sunlight. And this inspired him with that which then flowed into his wisdom about the spiritual cosmos, about the universe. So these were not merely places of the dead; they were places of insight.

[ 21 ] But there’s more. If this was the case at certain times of day—as I just described—then one could say: At other times of the day, the opposite was true: currents flowed back from the earth [upward arrows], which could be observed when the sun was not shining on them, and within these currents lived what constituted the moral qualities of the priest’s congregation, so that at certain times the priest could see what the moral qualities of his parishioners were like in the surrounding area. Thus, both the downward-flowing spiritual forces and the upward-flowing spiritual forces revealed to him that which allowed him to stand, in a truly spiritual way, at the center of his entire sphere of influence.

[ 22 ] Of course, these things are not mentioned in what modern science tells us about these places of worship. But this is, in fact, what one can perceive directly here, because the power of the impulses—the impulses arising from the work of the Druid priests during their heyday—was so strong that these things are still very much alive today in the astral atmosphere of that place.

[ 23 ] I was then able to visit another type of sacred site together with Dr. Wachsmuth: From Penmaenmawr, you hike up a mountain for about an hour and a half. At the top, there is something like a hollow. From this hollow, you have a wonderful, unobstructed view of the surrounding mountains and also of the rim of the hollow on the mountain itself. Up there in this hollow, one found what can be described as the actual sun cult site of the ancient Druids. It is arranged such that the corresponding stones are set with their capstones; traces of this are visible everywhere.

[ 24 ] Think of it this way: These sacred sites have no interior space. Up here, located in close proximity to one another, you have two such druid circles. As the sun follows its daily path, the shadows cast by these stones naturally fall in a wide variety of ways, and one can now distinguish, let’s say, when the sun passes through the constellation of Aries, the Aries shadow, then the Taurus shadow, the Gemini shadow, and so on. Even today, if one deciphers these things, one gets a good sense of how the Druid priest, from the various sun shadows—each qualitatively distinct—produced by this Druid circle, the Druid priest was able to discern the mysteries of the universe from that which continues to live on in the sun’s shadow when the physical sunlight is held back, so that, in fact, contained within it is a cosmic clock that speaks of the world’s mysteries. But these were indeed signs that emerged in the shadows cast there, signs that spoke of the cosmic mysteries of the universe.

[ 25 ] The second circle then served as a sort of check to verify the results of the first circle. If, for example, one had ascended in an airplane and traveled far enough away that the distance between them might have disappeared, then, looking down, one would actually have seen, directly from these two Druid circles, the outline of what was the ground plan of our Goetheanum.

[ 26 ] All of this is located near the island of Anglesey, where much of what has been preserved in the legends of King Arthur took place. King Arthur’s center was, of course, a bit further south, but many events connected to King Arthur’s legacy also took place here. All of this lends the astral atmosphere of Penmaenmawr a quality that distinctly sets this site apart—making it a place about which one can say: when speaking of spiritual matters, one is compelled to speak in terms of imaginings. The thing about these imaginations is that—once they are formed in the course of the depictions—they very quickly vanish from the astral atmosphere within today’s civilization. When one attempts to depict the spiritual, one is constantly struggling against the disappearance of these imaginations. One must set these images before oneself, but they fade very quickly, so that one is constantly compelled to generate them anew in order to have them before one’s eyes. The astral atmosphere that arises from these things is such that, although it is somewhat more difficult to form these images there in Penmaenmawr, this difficulty in turn leads, on the other hand, to a great easing of spiritual life, in that these images, once formed, simply appear as if inscribed into the astral atmosphere, so that they remain within it. One has the feeling there, whenever one forms imaginations that express the spiritual world, that they remain in the astral atmosphere of that place. And it is precisely this circumstance that so vividly reminds one of how these Druid priests chose their special sites, where they were able—I would say in an effective way—to engrave into the astral atmosphere what it was their duty to shape in imaginations drawn from the mysteries of the world. So that one indeed experiences it as a kind of real crossing over, almost like crossing a threshold, when, coming from Ilkley—which lies very close to industrialization and shows only faint traces of the ancient Druidic era—one now enters into something that, in the immediate present, is simply spiritual. It is all spiritual. One can certainly say: This Wales is a special corner of the earth. This Wales is today the guardian of an immensely powerful spiritual life, which, admittedly, consists of memories—but real memories that stand before us. So that one may actually say: The opportunity to speak here now simply about anthroposophy—not in reference to the offshoots of anthroposophy, but about anthroposophy in and of itself, about the inner essence of anthroposophy—I count this as one of the most significant stages in the development of our anthroposophical life.

[ 27 ] The credit for establishing this institution—and for thereby introducing something of this kind into the development of anthroposophical life—is due to the extraordinarily insightful and energetic efforts of Mr. Dunlop, who explained the plan to me during my visit to England last year, who then stuck to this plan, and who has now brought it to fruition. It was, after all, planned from the outset to present purely anthroposophical content in connection with eurythmy here at this location this August.

[ 28 ] Mr. Dunlop then had a third idea, but it was impossible to carry out, and one can certainly say: What has become possible was actually made possible only by the truly spiritually insightful choice of this location. I believe it is of some importance to reflect on the fact that there are such exceptional places on the Earth’s surface where, in a vividly preserved memory, that which was once alive as a sun cult—in preparation for the later adoption of Christianity in Northern and Western Europe—is still immediately present.

[ 29 ] The lectures took place in the morning; part of the afternoon was set aside so that the participants could experience this astral atmosphere and its connection to the memories of ruined sacrificial sites, dolmens, and so on, right there on the spot; the evening was filled with discussions on anthroposophical topics or with eurythmy performances. There were five such events in Penmaenmawr, which were received, on the one hand, with genuine depth of feeling and, on the other, with the utmost interest. The audience consisted partly of anthroposophists, but also partly of non-anthroposophical attendees. It was certainly the case that—which, in turn, is understandable given that it was a mountainous region bordering the sea—hour by hour we were treated to the lovely alternation of brief downpours and bright sunshine, and so on. For example, one evening—the venue was, after all, something that looked almost exactly like this carpentry workshop—we actually made our way through a sort of downpour to a eurythmy performance; when it began, people were still sitting in the hall with their umbrellas, but they did not let that dampen their enthusiasm. So it was certainly something—as I myself said in Penmaenmawr—that can truly be recorded as a very significant chapter in the history of our anthroposophical movement.

[ 30 ] An event was also dedicated to discussing educational issues in Penmaenmawr. And on this occasion, I would now like to mention the following, which you have already been able to read in the brief account I gave of it in Goetheanum. When I arrived in England, in Ilkley, I found a book waiting for me titled Education Through Imagination, which I was able to skim through at first and which immediately captivated me; a book that one of our friends has described as one of the most significant books in England. Its author is Miss MacMillan. She herself served as chairperson on the first evening and on the following evenings in Ilkley. Miss MacMillan delivered the opening address. It was uplifting to witness this woman’s beautiful enthusiasm and sincere, inner passion for the art of education. And at the same time, it was a source of extraordinary satisfaction for us that this very woman fully embraces what can be achieved through the Waldorf school methodology in a truly earnest approach to education.

[ 31 ] Over the next few days, I continued reading the book and summarized my impressions of it in the article in the latest issue of Goetheanum. Then, last Monday, Dr. [Name] and I were able to visit this remarkable woman’s work in Deptford, near London, close to Greenwich. There we found what I would call Miss MacMillan’s care and educational institution. She takes in children from the lowest, poorest social classes into this institution; she also strives to include older children. Today she has 300 children at the school; she started with six children many years ago, and today there are 300. These children are admitted at the age of two; they come from communities where they are filthy, destitute, sick, undernourished, or very poorly nourished—if I may say so, suffering from rickets, typhoid, or even worse conditions. Today, right in the immediate vicinity, you can see a kind of school barracks similar to those at the Waldorf School—the barracks, not our current opulently built house, but the temporary barracks—yet there they are very beautiful and tastefully furnished. The buildings are set in a garden, but you only need to take a few steps from any of the gates to see the population living in the most appalling misery and filth on the street—the very people these children come from—and compare that with what has been made of these children.

[ 32 ] First of all, the bathing facilities are exemplary. That is the most important thing. The children arrive at 8 a.m. and are dismissed in the evening, so they return to their home every evening. The care begins in the morning with bathing. Then a kind of instruction begins—all carried out with tremendous dedication, with a touching, moving spirit of self-sacrifice, and all organized in a heartwarming, practical way. Since Miss MacMillan also believes that Waldorf school pedagogy must eventually find its way into all of this, one must say: From this perspective, one can view it with complete satisfaction—even though one might wish for some things to be done differently today, particularly in terms of methodology; but that is of no consequence at all when compared to this spirit of self-sacrifice. Things are, after all, always a work in progress. For it is truly significant how well-mannered these children become, which is particularly evident during mealtime, when they are led to the table, where they serve themselves, and where the food is always served by one of the children. An example of what makes practical sense is that this—I would say extraordinarily cozy—“feeding” of the children, during which one would love to join them at the table, costs just 2 shillings and 4 pence per child for the entire week. Everything is organized in an extraordinarily practical way. It was wonderful, for example, to see how the older children—who have been at this institution for years—were called together and then performed a long scene from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream for us, actually with heartfelt emotion and even a certain mastery of dramatic technique. There was something poignantly magnificent about the way these children performed it—expressively and impressively, with a truly inner mastery of the dramatic art.

[ 33 ] And this performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream took place almost entirely at the very same site where Shakespeare himself once performed his plays for the court with his troupe. For Queen Elizabeth’s court was located near Greenwich. There, in the buildings—on the site of which today’s classrooms and other rooms stand, which I will discuss in a moment—Queen Elizabeth’s court even resided, and Shakespeare, coming from London, had to perform his plays there for the courtiers. It was at that very same site that the children performed these Shakespeare plays for us.

[ 34 ] And in the same area, connected to this educational care facility, there is a children’s hospital, again for the poorest of the poor. Every year, 6,000 children pass through this hospital—not all at once, but annually. Miss MacMillan is now also the director of this clinic. So there, in a deeply impoverished and polluted area—a terrible area—is a woman working with boundless energy and a truly magnificent understanding of what she is doing there.

[ 35 ] It was therefore a source of deep satisfaction to me when Miss MacMillan expressed her intention, if at all possible, to visit our Waldorf School in Stuttgart at Christmas with a few colleagues from her teaching staff. This teaching staff is exceptionally dedicated. You can imagine that caring for children with the characteristics I just described is no easy task. It therefore filled me with great satisfaction that this very person was the chairperson for the Ilkley lectures, and then in Penmaenmawr—where she returned for the few days she was able to spare—she initiated a discussion on pedagogy in which Dr. von Baravalle and Dr. von Heydebrand spoke. So what took place in Penmaenmawr and everything connected with it was truly quite satisfying.

[ 36 ] The final, third part, so to speak, consisted of the days in London. Dr. Wegman had come over specifically for what was initially my assignment in London. We were to present the method and the essence of our anthroposophical medical endeavors to a number of English physicians. Forty physicians had been invited, and most of them had gathered at Dr. Larkins’s home. In two lectures, I was able to speak first about the special nature of our remedies in relation to the symptoms of disease and the essence of the human being. And then, in the second lecture, I was able to provide a physiological-pathological foundation regarding human functions; then, building on this foundation, I discussed the modes of action of individual remedies—specifically, the effects of antimony, mistletoe, and so on—and I believe we can truly say that perhaps a fairly good understanding of the matter has been met with even in wider circles, as evidenced by the fact that the consultations for which Dr. Wegman was sought out were quite numerous. Thus, this aspect of anthroposophical work has also come to the fore.

[ 37 ] The event culminated in a eurythmy performance at the Royal Academy of Art, which was an extraordinary success—one can certainly say that. The venue isn’t particularly large, but not only was it sold out, people even had to be turned away. The eurythmy was received with extraordinary enthusiasm. One can actually say of eurythmy: wherever it goes, it makes its way. If only there weren’t such extraordinarily great obstacles at this present time! Precisely when, on the one hand, one looks at everything that is unfolding—for example, the trend among the Ilkley initiatives to establish a kind of Waldorf school over in England—one then looks, on the other hand, with great concern—a concern that simply cannot leave us today—at what confronts us, I would call an indefinite, painful response, when one asks: What will become of the Waldorf School in Germany—which is so terribly endangered, and from which, for example, the educational efforts actually originated? I say this not so much because of the financial aspect of the matter, but because of the extraordinarily precarious conditions within Germany. There are already many things in regard to which one must say to oneself: If things continue as they are now, it is hard to imagine where the efforts of the Waldorf School in particular will lead.

[ 38 ] After all, if things continue the way they are now—as they have unfolded from what is currently happening—there will hardly be any possibility of steering such matters safely through today’s turmoil. It is particularly disheartening to see how these things exist, and how, in fact, everything in the world today happens out of short-sightedness, without the slightest inkling that spiritual currents must play a role in cultural development—and how, in the broadest circles, people have lost all immediate interest and all heartfelt engagement with these matters. Basically, everything is actually asleep in the face of the things that so terribly strike at the root of human and earthly becoming. Humanity is asleep. At most, people complain about the matter only when it directly affects them personally. But things cannot proceed without the unfolding of great ideas! And there is such a dullness in the world toward the impulses that are meant to take hold: Either people don’t want to hear anything about it, or they feel uncomfortable in the world when attention is drawn to something like the precarious situation in Central Europe. They feel uncomfortable; they don’t like to talk about it, or they gloss over it in a certain way and, in particular, frame things so that they still speak of insubstantial matters—of guilt and the like. In this way, one rid oneself of these things. The way humanity today relates to general world events is something that can tear terribly at one’s soul. This general cultural slumber, which is becoming more and more widespread, is, at its core, something utterly and terribly pitiful. Indeed, there is simply no awareness of how the Earth today forms a unity in its civilization, even in the face of such elemental events—I do not wish to speak of them here now, but they have indeed occurred—such as the harrowing Japanese tragedy brought about by nature. Indeed, when one compares how people viewed these things a relatively short time ago with how they view them today, there is something about it that truly and repeatedly brings to mind the necessity of pointing out just how urgently humanity needs to awaken.

[ 39 ] Of course, this is always before us, especially when we see what could become of things if people were to take an interest, if people were to come to accept things as they are, if they were to view them not in terms of national or state divisions, but in a generally human sense! When you see, on the one hand, what could then become of things, and when you see, on the other hand, how the general lethargy makes it almost impossible for anything to come to pass, that actually provides the defining characteristic—I would say—of our present age more than anything else. That is how things are: you cannot speak of one thing without the other picture also emerging in the context.

[ 40 ] My dear friends, that is precisely what I wanted to share with you today: a kind of travelogue. Tomorrow, following on from this, I will speak about questions of spiritual life, which are, of course, connected in a broader sense and which, in turn, are actually of an anthroposophical nature.

[ 41 ] My lecture will take place tomorrow at 8 a.m.; on Tuesday at 8 a.m., there will be a eurythmy performance here.