The Rudolf Steiner Archive

First Lecture

[ 1 ] The Goetheanum in Dornach, which has been under construction for ten years, is no more. The Anthroposophical Society has lost this building. It has thus lost an extraordinary amount. One need only realize what the construction of the Goetheanum has meant for the Anthroposophical Society, and as one gradually comes to grasp the magnitude of the loss in the proper way, one will also come to appreciate the magnitude of the pain—for which there are no words—the magnitude of that pain inflicted upon us by the terrible fire on New Year’s Eve 1922–1923. Up until the moment when we were able to lay the cornerstone for the Goetheanum in Dornach in 1913, the Anthroposophical Society, as the guardian of the anthroposophical movement, had spread throughout a certain region of the world through its individual branches. And it was from within the bosom of this Society that the impulse arose to erect a central building of its own. Perhaps it is precisely here that one will be able to feel all the more deeply what the entire Anthroposophical Society is enduring as a result of having lost this central building. For here in Stuttgart, the Anthroposophical Society led the way with that very building in which we have been able to carry out our work for many years now. That is why people here will know what it means to be surrounded by a building of our own that is worthy of the anthroposophical movement.

[ 2 ] Until the impulse arose within it to erect a central building in Dornach, the Anthroposophical Society was limited to working solely through its gatherings—Stuttgart being an exception due to the fact already mentioned—and was, in a sense, limited to having only the word to speak of the connection between human beings and the spiritual world, a connection that has now become necessary due to the development of humanity. Now, certainly this way of working for the anthroposophical movement through the spoken word will always be the most important, the most significant, and the most indispensable in this realm. But with the construction of the Goetheanum, something else became possible. It had become possible, through the artistic forms—which, after all, had been sought as purely artistic in the construction of the Goetheanum—to speak, I would say, to the wider world. Certainly, anyone in our time who lacks an appreciation and feeling for what anthroposophy can proclaim through the spoken word will also be unable to appreciate such artistic forms as those that became visible in Dornach during the construction of the Goetheanum. Nevertheless, it must be said that, in keeping with people’s inclinations in our present age, the eye is more easily drawn to what can be seen than the soul, through inner activity, to what can be heard. And so it was precisely through the Dornach building that the possibility of speaking of the spirituality necessary for humanity today was expanded to an immeasurable extent. Through the Goetheanum, the mysteries of the spiritual world have in fact been communicated to an infinitely greater number of people—communicated through visible forms and the visible work—than could ever before have been communicated through the spoken word. And once and for all, the Goetheanum in Dornach has demonstrated—above all to those who possessed even a modicum of good will to view this Goetheanum and the anthroposophy behind it with an open mind— that anthroposophy is not sectarian in its very nature, that it seeks to grasp the great task of our present age, which consists in receiving the rays of a new spiritual light now accessible to humanity and imprinting them upon the means of human culture and civilization. In contrast to individual gatherings held in venues chosen at random for this purpose, even an impartial observer might, under certain circumstances, have spoken of a sectarian movement. In contrast to the care with which efforts were made in Dornach to avoid any symbolism or allegory in the architectural and artistic forms and to allow the anthroposophical impulse to radiate into purely real art—in contrast to this endeavor—it was no longer possible, even with the best of intentions, to speak of an anthroposophical sect. One had to recognize that anthroposophy seeks something thoroughly universal and human; it does not wish to cultivate any kind of isolation, but rather seeks for the present what is universally human in every realm of human thought and creativity today. And so this Goetheanum—which now, viewed as a ruin, makes such a terribly devastating impression—had become a powerful means for the anthroposophical movement to express what it truly is in its very essence. And we did indeed try to incorporate into every single form, into every single image, everything that lay within this general impulse I have just described. We have tried to offer pure art, because pure, true art lies entirely within the essence of the anthroposophical impulse. And so, precisely through the Goetheanum, it was possible to speak of the sacred mission of the Anthroposophical Society even to people who wanted to know nothing about it.

[ 3 ] This has been happening for nearly ten years. Now, in a single night, it has become impossible. One need only say these two sentences side by side, and one is overwhelmed by all those feelings for which there truly are no words to express them. In comparison, of course, everything one might cite today regarding ten years of work and ten years of concerns pales into insignificance; for, after all, this work is insignificant and these concerns are trivial in the face of the irreplaceable loss of one of the most significant means of revelation for the anthroposophical movement.

[ 4 ] Well, if the Goetheanum no longer exists today, then surely everyone who loved this Goetheanum—who was genuinely attached to it—will feel the desire to rebuild it in some form. Yet, especially with regard to the idea of rebuilding, we must not forget that ten years have passed since this building was lost and that, in a certain sense, it is also part of the nature of the anthroposophical movement to have opponents. We are seeing once again, in these days of sorrow, what opposition to the anthroposophical movement truly means. On the one hand, it must be said that, precisely in the face of this catastrophe, it has become clear how many true friends the anthroposophical movement has gained through the Goetheanum. For in addition to the expressions of grief and sorrow on the occasion of the catastrophe from the circles of anthroposophical friends—which I have received with such heartfelt gratitude—we have also received many messages from people who have always remained outside the circle of the Anthroposophical Society and who have now spoken out about their shared sorrow over this terrible catastrophe. A great deal of love for our cause has been demonstrated on this occasion.

[ 5 ] Essentially, the Dornach building was built out of love. Essentially, it was also brought to ruin in the name of love. After all, it could only have been built through the boundless willingness to make sacrifices on the part of those individuals who, even back in 1913 when the building project was undertaken, had already devoted themselves to the anthroposophical movement for some time. Material sacrifices, sacrifices of the spirit, and sacrifices of labor were made on an immeasurable scale. And many friends of the anthroposophical cause gathered in Dornach to contribute to the realization of this building in the most selfless way possible.

[ 6 ] And then came the terrible war. Although the pace of construction on the Goetheanum slowed considerably during the terrible war, it did not actually create a breach in the spirit of anthroposophical cooperation. The construction site at Dornach was, in fact, a place—amidst hostility and conflict between nations—where representatives of a large number of warring European nations worked together in peaceful collaboration, in loving mutual understanding, thinking and acting in unison. And perhaps it may be said without immodesty: the love that was built into this structure may be revealed when, in a cultural-historical sense, people speak of the waves of hatred that were kindled among civilized humanity between the years 1914 and 1918. In Dornach, while hatred raged all around, true love reigned and was built into the structure. It was that love which comes from the spirit. For anthroposophy undoubtedly bears its name with good reason: it is not merely a form of knowledge like other forms of knowledge. When we speak of the approach of its ideas and the approach of its words, we mean something other than theoretical, abstract knowledge. In anthroposophy, ideas are not shaped in the same way they have been shaped in the realm of knowledge for the past three, four, or five centuries; words are not coined in the same way they are coined today in other fields. For anthroposophy, ideas are vessels fashioned out of love, into which the human being is drawn from spiritual worlds in a spiritual manner. Enveloped by thoughts shaped by love, the light of true humanity is to shine through anthroposophy. And knowledge is merely the means by which human beings are to be given the opportunity for the true Spirit to gather in human hearts from the vastness of the worlds, so that it may illuminate human thoughts from within those hearts. And because anthroposophy can truly be grasped only through love, it is love-creating when it is embraced by people in its true form. That is why, in the midst of raging hatred, a place of love could be built in Dornach. And words—in the realm of anthroposophy, they are not formed in the way words are usually formed today. Words are formed in such a way that they are, in essence, all requests. Every word in anthroposophy is, in essence, when spoken in the true sense, a plea, a devout plea: the plea that the Spirit may descend to humanity.

[ 7 ] And it was out of such devotion that the building in Dornach was constructed. Love was woven into it, and the love of our friends, in turn, worked selflessly during the night of the fire. There was a spirit transformed by love present there.

[ 8 ] Now, it is impossible for me at this time to speak about what, I would say, could be said in a deeper spiritual sense regarding the fire disaster in Dornach. I would not dismiss it if anyone were to raise the question from the heart: What, on the one hand, of the justice of the world powers, which offered no protection against this terrible catastrophe? Nor would I dismiss it if it were said, for example: Was this catastrophe not foreseeable? Yet these are questions that lead into the deepest realm of esotericism, and speaking about them today is impossible for the simple reason that there is no longer a place where one can speak freely about such deeper causes without this being immediately carried out through leaky walls to those who, in turn, use these things only to forge weapons against the anthroposophical movement. And so I am now unable to speak about deeper spiritual connections in this regard.

[ 9 ] But what has, on the one hand, I would say, been expressed with love is immediately met with strong opposition. From all sides, especially in the face of our misfortune, there is a barrage of mockery, scorn, and hatred; and that which has always been so steeped in this opposition—objective untruth—is particularly evident now, as the opposition pours out from every nook and cranny and seizes the opportunity to confront even misfortune with objective untruth. Our friends have worked diligently to save what simply could not be saved. Opponents, however, find it “tasteful,” for example, to say: “These anthroposophists—their character was revealed during the fire; they stood nearby and prayed that the fire would go out on its own!”—I wish only to highlight this small sample from all the mockery and scorn that has been directed at us in connection with this catastrophe.

[ 10 ] Well, I have—I may say—been pointing out for years that we must expect an ever-growing opposition and that vigilance against this growing opposition is our most sacred duty. It has always pained me when it was stated from one side or another: “The opponents seem to have calmed down in this or that direction.” — Such statements were linked to the tendency to delude ourselves, which is now, unfortunately, widespread in our circles. May the terrible misfortune that has befallen us at least rid our dear friends of this tendency to delude themselves and instill in them the conviction that the uniting of all the strong forces of our spirit and our heart is necessary for the survival of the anthroposophical movement. For if the desire arises today to rebuild something like the Goetheanum, it is above all necessary that we be aware: Without a strong, energetic Anthroposophical Society standing behind it, such a reconstruction is meaningless. The reconstruction has meaning only if it is backed by a self-aware, duty-conscious, and strong Anthroposophical Society. At the same time, however, we must not forget what the conditions are for the existence of such a strong Anthroposophical Society. And let us, in this solemn—I might even say, solemnly festive—moment, add a few words to what has been said about how we should think of a strong Anthroposophical Society, conscious of its duties, especially in these days.

[ 11 ] My dear friends, until 1918, the Anthroposophical Society existed, I would say, as a vessel for the stream of spirit that, in the opinion of the leading Anthroposophical members, was to come to humanity in our age. Until 1918, this was complemented by what had emerged solely from the anthroposophical center—from anthroposophical thinking, feeling, and willing. And even though the building in Dornach was all that I have spoken of today, even though it was a symbol of the anthroposophical movement in a much broader sense than the word itself can convey, it must still be said that, down to its smallest details, it sprang from the center of anthroposophical impulses. But anthroposophy is not the concern of an isolated circle of people; by its very nature, it is the very opposite of anything sectarian. And that is why it is capable of making what it shapes from its center bear fruit in the most diverse areas of life. In the difficult times that followed the provisional end of the European war, friends of the anthroposophical movement found themselves initially witnessing misfortune in the most diverse spheres of life and recognizing the need for new impulses in those very same spheres. And since 1919, in connection with the anthroposophical movement, many things have come into being in a different way than they would have if anthroposophy had continued to develop in the same manner and with the same essence that it had maintained up until 1918. There is no doubt that anthroposophy is called upon to influence the most diverse areas of life—including, of course, all those that, in connection with it, have been fruitfully cultivated since 1919 by various friends of anthroposophy. But external events have, in a certain sense, led to a situation where these things have not been drawn directly from anthroposophy, but rather—though certainly not in the anthroposophical sense—have been established and cultivated, so to speak, alongside anthroposophy. And so, since 1919, we have seen various developments that, while not unanthroposophical, were cultivated alongside anthroposophy in a different manner than had naturally followed from the course of the anthroposophical movement up to 1918. This is an extraordinarily important fact, and I would ask you not to misunderstand me, since I am speaking today precisely about these events—and am obliged to speak about them.

[ 12 ] I am, of course, not speaking of that which, in its inner substance, has arisen in connection with the anthroposophical movement—such as *Kommende Tag* or similar works—which exist on their own terms; although they arose in connection with the anthroposophical movement, they have their own specific conditions of existence. Therefore, what I have to say in the following sentences does not apply to such institutions; it must not, therefore, be misunderstood as saying anything whatsoever about the value of these institutions operating in the material realm, which, of course, should be maintained in a spirit that is entirely compatible with the anthroposophical movement. What I am saying is intended to refer solely to the Anthroposophical Society as such, to the work within the Anthroposophical Society, for the Anthroposophical Society, and so on. This anthroposophical movement, which is partly anchored in the Anthroposophical Society, has indeed been able to demonstrate right here in Stuttgart that it is, by its very nature, something universally human; that it does not spring from some kind of spiritual party platform or the like; that it springs from the entirety of human nature. And the impartial observer may well come to realize that this proof of the universally human nature of anthroposophy has been provided right here in Stuttgart in one particular field. It has been provided in the field of pedagogy and didactics through the Waldorf School. It has been provided by the fact that the Waldorf School is not an “Anthroposophy school,” but rather that the Waldorf School seeks to solve the problem: How can we best educate and teach people based on the full scope of all human capacities? How can we develop people through education and instruction? — And Anthroposophy is meant to point the way toward how this problem can be solved. A sect or a political party would have founded an “Anthroposophy School,” not a school for humanity as a whole. And this universal human character—which the Waldorf School specifically strives to achieve—cannot be emphasized strongly enough. Here it seems that one can say: To those who truly profess their commitment to anthroposophy in its genuine spirit, the name “anthroposophy” is entirely irrelevant; what matters to them is the cause itself. But the cause is a wholly universal human one, and as it approaches a specific field, it can only work in the spirit of the most universal humanity. Any sect, any party—if it can establish a school, whether the sect is called the Adventist or Monist League—any sect, when it establishes a school, establishes a sectarian school. Anthroposophy, by its very nature, cannot do this. Anthroposophy can only establish something universally human. That lies in its very nature. And anyone who, even in light of such facts, still treats the anthroposophical movement as a sectarian one can only do so either out of carelessness or malice. Here in Stuttgart, the Waldorf School has provided proof that anthroposophy is a matter of universal humanity.

[ 13 ] But this should, in fact, be given serious consideration even within the Anthroposophical Society. The way in which the Waldorf School was founded—the spirit from which it arose—is something that should be reflected upon within the Anthroposophical Society. And whenever anything is established in connection with the anthroposophical movement or society, one should ensure that it is done in this spirit. So perhaps it may be said: Both in the construction of the Goetheanum in Dornach and in the founding of the Waldorf School—as well as in the way the Waldorf School is run—the manner in which anthroposophy seeks to be active in the various cultural spheres is clearly evident.

[ 14 ] So I cite—and I would like to say this again so that I am not misunderstood—for example, *The Coming Day* as something that is not affected by what I am about to say, because it possesses its own value by virtue of its own conditions of existence. I wish only to speak of that which takes place—or is to take place—within the anthroposophical movement through anthroposophical activity, and I would like to emphasize particularly strongly that the anthroposophical movement, for its part, has been able to demonstrate precisely through the Waldorf School how it does not act in a narrow, partisan, or sectarian manner, but rather how it acts in the general spirit of humanity in such a way that, so to speak, one can no longer tell from its children what source they sprang from, because they grow into the universal human realm. There is no need to ask, with regard to the Waldorf School: Did it arise from anthroposophy? One need only ask: Does it educate and teach children in the way that human beings should be educated and taught? — And so one must say that, in its work and in its activities, anthroposophy is transformed into the essence of universal humanity. But precisely if this is to be the case, precisely if anthroposophy is to be effective in the right way across the most diverse fields, then it must have—not for its own sake, but, I would say, for the sake of its children—a field in which it is vigorously cultivated in its purity, a field in which anthroposophists are fully aware of their duties toward society. Only in this way can anthroposophy be the true mother to its many and varied children in the most diverse fields of culture and civilization. The Anthroposophical Society must unite people who, in the deepest and most sacred sense, are serious about fostering the anthroposophical cause. Well, that is difficult. Many believe it is easy. In a certain sense, it is difficult, and these difficulties have become particularly evident since 1919, especially here in Stuttgart. For while, on the one hand, we have in the Waldorf School something that—at least until now—has preserved the very character we have just discussed, which lies entirely in the essence of anthroposophy, on the other hand we have seen right here just how extraordinarily difficult it is to maintain, I would say, the right relationship with the mother—with the Anthroposophical Society as such. This may sound like a paradox at first. However, if I explain what I mean in more detail, perhaps I will be understood in this regard as well.

[ 15 ] I can now discuss these matters without saying the slightest thing about the value of the various movements that have arisen in connection with anthroposophy since 1919, for I am speaking only in terms of their impact on the Anthroposophical Society. Therefore, no one should twist or misinterpret my words as if I were speaking about the value of the individual justifications; I am speaking only of the repercussions on the Anthroposophical Society. These initiatives that have arisen have not always been understood by those who represent them in such a way that—I would say—the words are felt in a modern spiritual sense: “You shall honor your father and your mother, so that it may go well with you on earth.”—For indeed, members of the Anthroposophical Society are also active within such initiatives, and in fact, for the most part. Now the question is: Are these members of the Anthroposophical Society, who are active in a field that has developed in connection with it—even though they are the most outstanding people in that field—always mindful of the “Mother” in the right way? Do they exert a positive influence on the Anthroposophical Society from their field in the right way? This question is quite distinct from whether the individuals in question are outstanding in their respective fields or not. If I were to express myself particularly radically, I would have to say the following: For example, someone may be a truly outstanding Waldorf school teacher, fully in the spirit in which the Waldorf school was founded—out of the spirit of the anthroposophical movement as a matter of universal human significance— he can fulfill his role as a Waldorf school teacher as excellently as possible out of this spirit; the Waldorf school, precisely because it is not an Anthroposophical school, can be shaped and operate out of the spirit of Anthroposophy. The individual Waldorf school teacher can excel in his or her role within the school, but he or she cannot, in a sufficient sense, act as an anthroposophist for the Anthroposophical Society. I am not saying that this is the case in every instance; I merely wish to make it clear that this can be the case. The individual—let’s say, one working for the “Coming Day”—can be an excellent servant of the “Coming Day”; he can bring the “Coming Day” to its most beautiful flowering; and he can—to put it this way—achieve something thoroughly inadequate in the realm of the Anthroposophical Society! But by failing, so to speak, to give the mother what the mother needs so that all the children can be properly cared for, this gives rise to the gravest concern for the anthroposophical movement—truly the gravest concern.

[ 16 ] My dear friends, that was what, in a particular area, compelled me to speak out during my penultimate lecture at the Goetheanum on the movement for religious renewal. I certainly do not wish to criticize this movement for religious renewal in any way, for it came into being three and a half months ago as a result of my own advice, and it is only natural that I myself must view this movement in such a way that I derive the deepest satisfaction when it flourishes. I believe there can be no doubt about that. Nevertheless, even after these three and a half months of activity, I had to resort to the words that were spoken in Dornach at that time—not addressed to the religious renewal movement, but to the anthroposophists, including, of course, those anthroposophists who are part of the religious renewal movement. And these words could not have been anything other than a paraphrase: Rejoice in the daughter, but do not forget the mother; do not forget that the mother, too, must be cherished and cared for. — This cherishing and caring for the mother must be kept in mind both by the movement for religious renewal and, in particular, by the anthroposophists who live within the Anthroposophical Society.

[ 17 ] For can it even remotely be said that the Anthroposophical Society is being treated fairly—and by “fairly” I do not mean in the legal sense, of course—when anthroposophists turn away from it and toward a sister movement, not in the sense that they say: “We are deeply rooted in the anthroposophical movement, so we are best placed to advise a sister movement; we are best able to support this sister movement”—but rather when anthroposophists turn away from the anthroposophical movement with the attitude that they say: “Now we have the truth that we could never find within anthroposophy!” — This is truly, after all, a matter of attitude, of sensibility, of feeling. And as much as one should rejoice when the mother takes the daughter under her wing, it must also be strongly emphasized that the daughter cannot thrive unless the mother is cherished and cared for. So if it were to become apparent anywhere that those who stand as anthroposophists within the movement for religious renewal were to become inadequate members of the Anthroposophical Society, the very same situation would arise as if someone who works as an excellent teacher within a Waldorf school were to act in an inadequate anthroposophical sense within the Anthroposophical Society. Yet this is precisely the fate we have been experiencing since 1919, even if it often goes unnoticed.

[ 18 ] We have seen the “League for the Threefold Social Order” founded—and indeed, it was founded with good intentions. It has contributed significantly not to carrying the impulse for threefolding out into other circles that are not yet anthroposophical, but rather to driving it in like a wedge into the anthroposophical movement, which, fundamentally speaking, already possessed—out of a much deeper essence—everything that threefolding entailed in a wholly exoteric, external way. And we have already had to witness how anthroposophists who work zealously and intensively in the field of threefolding have become worse members of the Anthroposophical Society than they used to be. And that, I would say, has been our fate for the past four years. This fate must be characterized, for a strong and energetic Anthroposophical Society must exist if there is to be any legitimate basis for even considering the reconstruction of the Goetheanum. It must be remembered that this very fact—I would say—is of primordial significance: that it was here in Stuttgart that excellent work began in the most diverse fields. But if we view things realistically, we must ask ourselves the following question—please do not misunderstand me, for it serves no purpose if I do not speak today, so to speak, from the very foundations, in light of this sacred, solemn, and serious, yet also sad moment—let us, so as not to be misunderstood, take the example of the Waldorf School. We must tell ourselves the following: We must make clear to ourselves the difference that exists between the dissemination of anthroposophy through speech and writing, through lectures and books—and the maintenance of the Anthroposophical Society. To spread anthroposophy through word and writing, an Anthroposophical Society is, in theory, not even necessary at first, and in many cases anthroposophy is spread through word and writing without the Anthroposophical Society. But the whole of what is associated with anthroposophy today cannot exist without the Anthroposophical Society; it needs the Anthroposophical Society as its vessel. Now, one can be an excellent Waldorf school teacher, an excellent educator up there in the Waldorf school; one can also be an excellent disseminator of anthroposophy through word and writing on the side; but one can withdraw one’s activity from the nurturing and fostering of the Anthroposophical Society—or, indeed, from the human-to-human interaction that arises from anthroposophy itself. And must we not say: We have an excellent Waldorf school; we have outstanding individuals working at this Waldorf school who, in a far more brilliant way than one could ever expect, do their part—or, in this context, one must also say, do their women’s part—for both causes; yet they have withdrawn their strength from us for the actual nurturing and care of the Anthroposophical Society. They came here to Stuttgart, rendered brilliant service in the two areas I have described, but they did not place that service at the disposal of the Anthroposophical Society; they did not participate in the nurturing and care of the Anthroposophical Society.

[ 19 ] I ask that you take my words very seriously, especially today. We have had energetic, enthusiastic people working in the field of the Threefold Social Order; by being active in this field, they have increasingly withdrawn their activities from the Anthroposophical Society itself. And now we face the threat that, in the field of religious renewal, outstanding individuals may be working in a perhaps truly brilliant way, and it could happen again—this time in a particularly significant field—that the Anthroposophical Society will once more be deprived of its forces. This is precisely what causes such grave concern, especially in light of the immeasurable misfortune that has befallen us, and what makes it necessary to speak with the utmost clarity about these matters today.

[ 20 ] To ensure that I am not unclear, and in order to characterize the nature of the work within the Anthroposophical Society itself sufficiently, I would like to point out something else that I must characterize in a completely different way than what I have mentioned so far. Over the past four years, during which the Anthroposophical Society has faced such varied circumstances, we have seen a certain movement develop in two distinct ways. And it is precisely this dual nature of its development that is extraordinarily characteristic of this movement and of the Anthroposophical Society itself: namely, the student youth movement. Let us recall how the student youth movement came into being some time ago. At that time, it was called the Anthroposophical University League. Of course, because such things are rooted in life, they cannot be captured in fixed, sharply defined terms without some degree of constraint, but one must nevertheless attempt to do so to some extent. What was more or less consciously sought by the participants in this Anthroposophical University Federation—particularly through the figure who played such a pivotal role in its founding at the time, Roman Boos—what was the aim there? The aim was to influence, shape, and transform the study of the individual sciences from an anthroposophical perspective in response to certain shortcomings perceived by the movement’s leaders. The movement was conceived so that it would have an impact—one might say—on the lecture halls, so that through the activities of the student youth, a spirit would assert itself in the lecture halls that would indeed be active there. Only in this way could what emerged programmatically at that time be understood. Later, however—only very recently—a movement of a different nature began to assert itself; I would not call it a student-youth counter-movement, but rather a movement that emerged in particular when a number of student members gathered here in Stuttgart to engage with universal human themes, with a kind of spiritual, pedagogical, and didactic undertone. There was no tendency to directly bring the programmatic influence of anthroposophy into the lecture halls; a different arena had been envisaged; it was not the lecture hall, but rather the inner being of the human person—the human heart, the human spirit, the human way of feeling. The aim was not to say: “Something should come about through the word”—as if, to put it bluntly, the word were to sound different in the lecture hall—but rather the goal was this: there should be individual young people among the students who, with different hearts—because this lies in their innermost being—are young and will grow older. And because they, as students, are also human beings and grow older as human beings, they will—precisely out of this spirit of anthroposophy, which is a wholly universal human spirit—be present in the lecture hall as human beings as well. These young academics no longer operated within the categories of the academic lecture hall; they operated on the level of the young human being. It was something in the same realm that must be clearly distinguished from the other. But the Anthroposophical Society, if it is to function properly, must be broad-minded enough to find the human being everywhere, right down to the innermost core of their being, when they come to it and wish to find in it a helper for their seeking, for their striving.

[ 21 ] If you read my book *How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?*, you will find, among the various exercises for the human soul listed there, six exercises that are to be performed during certain periods. One of these exercises is cultivating complete impartiality toward the various spheres of life. Yes, my dear friends, the Anthroposophical Society itself needs these six virtues in their entirety, and we must strive to ensure that the Anthroposophical Society as such possesses these virtues. It must have enough impartiality so that, when someone comes looking for people, it must be strong enough to meet them fully. And one of the difficulties facing the Anthroposophical Society became apparent precisely in the fact that, when I came here and encountered these young people a short time ago, the Anthroposophical Society had completely withdrawn from them, and a tenuous connection first had to be reestablished. I am speaking somewhat radically, but perhaps this helps one understand things better. I mention this only as an example to show that the Anthroposophical Society must have within itself the capacity to face the phenomena of life with an open mind.

[ 22 ] And once again we are moving into a different field. In recent years, outstanding individuals from the Anthroposophical Society have been exploring the field of science in its most diverse branches for years now. We truly have—and I am being completely honest in my judgment, not only outwardly but also inwardly—some truly outstanding scientists who are not sufficiently appreciated within our circle. They have set themselves the task of fostering scientific work within the Anthroposophical Society, specifically in the individual scientific fields. In the early years of the Anthroposophical Society’s existence, it had no choice but to speak first and foremost to people as human beings; after all, it could not immediately branch out into the most diverse fields—it first had to speak from its center, from person to person. It first had to, I would say, conquer a certain ground in the world—namely, in the world of human hearts—before anything could be cultivated in a specific field. Then, precisely because anthroposophy is something that can have a fertilizing effect on all areas of culture and civilization, it was only natural that scientists would also emerge within it and work for the sake of science. But now, my dear friends, it is possible to be an outstanding scientist within the Anthroposophical Society while completely disregarding the fundamental principles of the Anthroposophical Society as such. One can, precisely as a scientist, excel at applying the anthroposophical teachings to chemistry, physics, and so on, and yet be the worst possible anthroposophist. And it is precisely in this area that we have experienced how these outstanding scientists have, in fact, withdrawn all their strength from us, withdrawn all their strength from the Mother, withdrawn all their active forces, and have not participated in nurturing and caring for the Anthroposophical Society as such. Those who, out of simple human hearts, then seek anthroposophy within the Anthroposophical Society, are sometimes put off by the fact that these scientists still speak with that approach, with that undertone they bring from chemistry and physics—where, admittedly, there is still something of the universal human in what is chemical, physical, biological, or legal, but which is nevertheless very far removed from the universal human. What we need, however, is that the Mother not be forgotten. For if the Anthroposophical Society had not nurtured anthroposophy from its center for a decade and a half—anthroposophy as such—the scientists would not have been able to establish themselves on its ground. Anthroposophy gave them what they needed. They must bear in mind that, through their collaboration with the Anthroposophical Society, they in turn must give back what they have found for science within anthroposophy.

[ 23 ] And so we can look at a wide variety of fields and must admit to ourselves: Anthroposophy has—forgive me for using this seemingly trivial word, but it is not so trivial in real life—had many children since 1919, but those children paid little attention to their mother.

[ 24 ] And today we face our terrible misfortune; in Dornach we see before us the heart-wrenching ruins of the Goetheanum, and we also see before us the Anthroposophical Society; even though its membership has grown immensely in recent times, we have an Anthroposophical Society lacking inner stability, one that also has something ruinous about it. Of course, we can still gather in anthroposophical groups; we can still hear lectures on anthroposophy; but what exists today can be wiped out in an instant by our opponents if we do not bear this in mind in the face of the misfortune I had to speak about today.

[ 25 ] So it was the words of grief, the words of sorrow, that I had to speak to you today. I had to speak to you in a different way than I have usually spoken to you from this place in recent times. But what has happened, and all that accompanies it, compels me to conclude my remarks with words of sorrow and grief that are truly deeply rooted—just as deeply rooted as the words of gratitude to all those who, through their love or their work, contributed to the construction of the Goetheanum and to the relief efforts following the fire. Just as deeply rooted as the words of appreciation for all that has been so heartening to witness in recent times among the broad circles of anthroposophical members, so too are the words in which this pain has had to find its expression today, and which is not meant to be a word of criticism or reproach directed at any party, but rather a word of self-examination, a word to awaken a sense of responsibility. Nor is it meant to be a word that depresses, but rather one that uplifts in our hearts and in our spirits the forces that can sustain us as the Anthroposophical Society—and specifically as the Anthroposophical Society. For we must not become a circle of educators, a circle of religious reformers, a circle of scientists, a circle of young, old, and middle-aged people; we must be an anthroposophical community that is conscious of the source from which it draws and with which, in essence, it nourishes its offshoots. We must be keenly aware of this! And if the flames of Dornach truly burn deep within our hearts, then may this fire in our hearts—let me express this wish to you today, my dear friends—strengthen within us the powers to attain the awareness that, above all else, we must all work together in the spirit of anthroposophy. For even individual specialized movements would lose their strength if they were not mindful of the Mother. Certainly, it must be admitted that, due to the difficulties involved in such matters, the Mother has often been forgotten—precisely by those who are most clearly her children. But if a change of heart takes place at the right time—a time that may still be available but will soon be gone—if the awareness arises that work within the Anthroposophical Society must be done in an anthroposophical manner, that above all the general task of bringing human beings together with the spiritual rays descending upon us from the divine spiritual heights—and if, in this awareness and in this task, the forces are strengthened in time by the flames of Dornach that burn in our hearts as well, then, despite all the terrible opposition, something will be achieved.

[ 26 ] May it be so, my dear friends! But may you also listen with the proper seriousness to what I—I would say—have had to speak to you today with a deeply aching heart. May this inspire in you the energy to work, the will to work, and the will to stand together, especially within the anthroposophical movement. No one should be offended by being told that they are an outstanding member in the work of *The Coming Day*, in the Waldorf school, or an outstanding contributor in the field of religious renewal or in any other field. But all of these people—along with those who have not entered a specific field, and also those who are old, young, and in between—may they all become conscious of the Mother, namely the Anthroposophical Society itself, from which all this must spring and within which all the individual specialists must work together. Too much specialization, without it having been properly recognized, has become widespread among us; in some cases so widespread that it has already become insignificant again, because it has caused us to forget the Mother all too much. May the fire at Dornach serve as a symbol of our resolve to truly strengthen our forces in the spirit of the Anthroposophical Society—to strengthen them through sincere and honest cooperation.