The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Sixth Lecture

[ 1 ] The mood in which I speak to you today is not the same as that in which I was once able to do so in earlier times; for ever since New Year’s Eve 1922–1923, the terrible image of the burning Goetheanum has loomed in the background of this mood. The fact is that the pain and suffering that must be felt by those who loved this Goetheanum out of a commitment to the cause of anthroposophy are so great and of such a nature that they cannot be expressed in words. It might perhaps seem as though the feeling were justified that a movement focused on the spiritual, such as our anthroposophical one, should have no such deep reason to mourn the loss of an external monument to its essence. But with the Goetheanum that we have lost, the situation is somewhat different. It was not just any external building for our anthroposophical cause. During the nearly ten years of work on the building, I often had to grapple with the fact that what might otherwise have been the case on another, similar occasion—such as the construction of a home for a spiritual or other movement—could not be the case for our anthroposophical movement. For here, as I often said, it was not merely a matter of having a spiritual movement that, through its growth among a group of self-sacrificing, devoted individuals, gave rise to the intention of building it a home of its own—one that should have been constructed in this or that conventional style. What was at stake here was that anthroposophy stands on spiritual ground that is not, in a one-sided way, merely any religious, epistemological, or artistic movement, but rather a comprehensive movement that seeks to manifest itself through these various aspects of humanity’s greatest ideals: the religious-moral, the artistic, and the epistemological. And so there could be no question of erecting a building for the anthroposophical movement designed at random; rather, this building had to be realized artistically from the very same sources from which anthroposophical ideas are shaped—as an expression of spiritual insight for the epistemological movement of anthroposophy. And for nearly ten years, many friends, standing by my side, sought to embody and visualize externally—in every single line, in every external architectural and sculptural form, and in every color scheme—what springs from the sources of anthroposophical insight, anthroposophical life, and anthroposophical will. This perspective, this life, was infused into every line, every sculptural form, and every color. And this building was intimately connected with that which, in other ways as well—on the side of knowledge and on the artistic side—sought to work and take effect within the anthroposophical movement. Those who, for example, have seen eurythmy performances in the renovated Goetheanum in Dornach will likely have had the impression that, in a sense, everything—from the inner architecture and the interior imagery of the auditorium and the stage—responded to the movements of the eurythmy and stood in the deepest harmony with those movements. One could well have had the impression that the movements of the people on stage were born directly out of the architectural and sculptural forms themselves. When one stood at the podium and spoke with genuine warmth from the spirit of anthroposophy, every line, every form was there to meet one, to speak along with one. That had been the intention. Certainly, it was an experiment for the first time, but it was the intention, and it could certainly be felt. And that is why the one who dedicated his work to this Goetheanum in Dornach finds the feelings he poured into this work themselves consumed by the flames that raged there on New Year’s Eve. It is precisely this intimate union of anthroposophical feeling and anthroposophical will with these forms—forms that were so deeply rooted in direct perception and artistically shaped for that very perception, forms that can never be replaced by any thought forms or interpretations—that makes the pain of this loss so profoundly deep. But this must also find its way into the memories of those who have come to love the Goetheanum, who have felt this intimate harmony. And in a certain sense, we must raise it up as a memory in our hearts. In a sense, while on the one hand we have been left homeless by the intimacy mentioned, we must seek all the more intensely a spiritual shelter in our hearts to replace what we have lost. We must strive by every means to erect in our hearts, for eternity, this edifice that has been taken from us in terms of our outer artistic sensibility. But in the background of all that can still be accomplished in the field of anthroposophy stands, nevertheless, that terrible flame into which all the smaller flames converged at midnight on December 31st into January 1st. And though not a single fragment of living, spiritual anthroposophy was consumed, a great deal of the work we had strived to accomplish for anthroposophy in our time was indeed burned.

[ 2 ] I believe that what has been experienced there—especially if it takes root in the right way in the hearts of our anthroposophical friends—can, out of the pain and grief, still give us the strength to carry out all that we are called upon to do for anthroposophical work in the coming period. After all, it is a fact of life that when a group of people must say to one another, “We have borne a shared misfortune,” this creates a bond of a certain kind, so that strength and power can in turn arise from the other side for joint, effective action. And it is from lived experiences—not from dreary theories, not from abstract thoughts—that the forces should arise which are to inspire us to anthroposophical work.

[ 3 ] My dear friends, I would like to add these points to the topic I had to choose for these two days: the description of the conditions for building an anthroposophical community. I would like to add them because, apart from the fact that they are so deeply rooted in the heart, they point to one of those realities that we should very much keep before our inner eye these days. A great deal of a spirit of sacrifice and a great deal of devoted work have flowed into the Goetheanum; and the impulses for this spirit of sacrifice and this devoted work have arisen over the two decades since we began practicing anthroposophy, wherever anthroposophy has been lived. They sprang from hearts that were inspired by anthroposophy. And the Goetheanum was an achievement of the community of anthroposophically minded people. While today, from a wide variety of perspectives, people are reflecting—and must reflect—on how the Anthroposophical Society should be revitalized, we must not forget, on the other hand, that the Anthroposophical Society existed for two decades, that many fateful experiences took place through the joint efforts and shared aspirations of, after all, a large number of people, and that the Anthroposophical Society is not something we can simply reestablish today; for history—real history, lived history, history that has been shaped—cannot be erased. We cannot start anew today with something that began two decades ago. We should guard against any misunderstanding in this regard as we participate in these proceedings. Those who have found their way to the Anthroposophical Society over time certainly have many criticisms of it—and quite rightly so. And just and weighty words have been spoken here in this regard. But we must bear in mind that the Anthroposophical Society is something that has made a difference. And there are, after all, enough people in this Anthroposophical Society who can speak today with weight and depth—because it is a matter of life, grief, and suffering—saying: “Our beloved Goetheanum has burned down for all of us.”

[ 4 ] There is, after all, a difference between joining the Society in 1917 and joining it later, and between having been so deeply committed to it that one can say this sorrow-filled phrase to oneself today, drawn from a long and profound inner experience. Our discussions should actually be guided by this fact. Then, nevertheless, something—and indeed something significant—will fade away from those sentiments that, based on legitimate grounds, some of our friends here have expressed in recent days. It struck me—and certainly, I felt it was justified—when I heard the words: “After everything I have heard here, when I return home, I can no longer speak of anthroposophy in the same way as I did when I was still full of illusions.” I say that something does fade away from these words when one considers what people who have been anthroposophists for two decades have experienced together and have suffered together in recent times, because this suffering was the final link in a long journey within the Anthroposophical Society. And one should also feel that even the concerns we are experiencing these days cannot wipe that away. That is something that endures. It would endure even if the events here had turned out to be far worse than they actually were. Must we, then, forget what lies deeper just because of what is on the surface? We must not do so, especially within a spiritual movement that springs from the depths of the human heart and soul. Sunless—even the sun is eclipsed—but in the true sense of the word, what has entered the world as the anthroposophical movement is not sunless. Of course, this does not prevent us from having to accept things within this circle as they present themselves, precisely in order to regain the proper vessel for anthroposophy within a true Anthroposophical Society. But we need the spirit from which this alone can be accomplished.

[ 5 ] Of course, I can’t cover everything that’s relevant today. I will endeavor to cover as much as possible in these two lectures of what needs to be said now. It is not possible to say everything, but I would like to draw particular attention to two things: the urgent need to build community within the Anthroposophical Society, and that symptom which has crept into this anthroposophical movement through the extraordinarily gratifying youth movement. But on anthroposophical ground, many things must be viewed differently than elsewhere. One would simply not be on this ground—so longed for by many—if one could not view things differently than they are otherwise viewed in today’s life.

[ 6 ] Community-building! It is, above all, most remarkable that the ideal of community-building is emerging so prominently in our time. Arising from a fundamental, deep-seated feeling in many human souls, the ideal of community-building emerges today—a very specific relationship between people driven by the impulse to work together. When, some time ago, a number of younger theologians came to me who were on the path to becoming pastors, what stood out above all was the impulse within them toward a religious renewal—a renewal imbued with the true power of Christ, a renewal capable of moving many people’s souls today in the way they long to be moved, yet cannot be moved within the traditional religious denominations of our time. And I had to speak a word that seems to me to be of extraordinary importance for the development of this current of religious renewal; I had to speak the word: We must seek, in the true sense, the formation of community—an element in religious and pastoral work that binds people to one another. - And I said to the friends who had come to me: With abstract words, with sermons in the ordinary sense, with the sparse liturgical practices that in many cases still remain today in one denomination or another, one cannot work to build community on religious ground. - The trend within religion itself toward increasing intellectualism has resulted in a truly significant number of today’s sermons being thoroughly permeated by a rationalistic, intellectualistic element. What reaches people today does not bind them together; on the contrary, it isolates them, and their social community becomes fragmented. And this must seem understandable to those who know that the rational and the intellectual are qualities I can acquire as an individual human being. Once I have reached a certain level of education in my individual human development, I can acquire intellectualism without relying on other people, and I can continue to perfect it within myself further and further. One can think alone, one can engage in logic alone, and one may even do so all the more perfectly the more one does it alone. One even feels the need to withdraw as much as possible from the world—including the world of human beings—when one remains immersed in purely logical thinking. But human beings are not, after all, predisposed solely to such solitude. And if I wish to endeavor today to illustrate, in a pictorial rather than an intellectualistic way, that which seeks community life in the depths of human hearts, it must be done for the reason that we are living in the transition to the development of the conscious soul in human nature, because our lives must become ever more conscious. Becoming more conscious does not mean becoming more intellectual. Becoming more conscious means that one can no longer remain at the level of mere instinctive experience. But precisely on anthroposophical ground, we must strive to portray that which is raised to conscious clarity in a way that is nonetheless full of elemental life—I would say, in a life that, for human feeling, is akin to naive perception and feeling. This must succeed. Now there is a kind of community in human life that is evident to everyone, one that extends across the entire globe and shows that humanity is inherently communal. A community that is also referred to everywhere in today’s cultural—indeed, political and economic—life, mostly in a very harmful way, but from which one can learn, even if only in a primitive way.

[ 7 ] In the first years of life, the child is introduced into a human community—a real, concrete human community—without which it cannot live. It is the community of human language. In language, we have—I would say—the form of community that nature has placed before the eye of the soul. Through language, especially through the mother tongue, which is instilled in the whole human being at a time when the child’s etheric body is still unborn, the first community-forming element is brought to the human being. And it is solely the fault of our rationalistic age that, while people today perceive the languages of the peoples—and the national characters—in an agitational, political manner, they fail entirely to take into account the deep, intimate soul configurations, the immense values of destiny and karma that are bound up with language and its genius, are not regarded as the natural foundation of humanity’s cry for community, arising from its innate nature. What would we be if we had to pass each other by without finding the same soul life resounding in a word of the same sound spoken by another—a word into which we, too, can pour our own soul life? And if each of us were to practice just a little self-knowledge, we would be able to achieve what I cannot elaborate on here due to time constraints: an overview of everything we owe to language as the first, most primitive form of human community-building.

[ 8 ] But there is something even deeper—albeit something that occurs less frequently in life—than human language. Human language is indeed something that, on a certain external level, binds people together in communal life, but it does not penetrate quite as deeply into the most intimate depths of the soul. In certain moments of earthly life, we perceive something else that fosters community besides language—something that transcends language. And this is felt by those who, if fate so ordains, are reunited in later life with others they knew as children. Let us imagine the ideal scenario in which someone, by a twist of fate, is reunited with three, four, or five companions from their youth—childhood friends—in later life, perhaps in their forties or fifties; companions with whom they have not been together for decades, but with whom they may have lived through the period between the ages of ten and twenty. Let us imagine good human relationships—fruitful, love-filled relationships—between these people, and let us mentally envision what it means when such people allow their souls to be touched by the memories of that time they shared as children. Memory lies deeper than anything that exists on the level of language. And souls resonate more intimately with one another when the pure, spiritual language of memories can bind people together, even if perhaps only for a brief time. And it is certainly not—as anyone with experience in this area knows—it is certainly not merely the individual facts that are recalled from memory and that strike from soul to soul when that immensely intimate, profound depth arises in people’s souls, which could occur in such an ideal case as I have just described. It is something entirely different. It is not the concrete content of the memories; it is a completely indeterminate and yet, at the same time, so definite experience—a shared experience within these human souls— it is a resurgence of the one with whom one was once together in a hundred different details, which, however, merge into a totality, and it is all that which comes from the other soul as a shared memory—that which awakens a total experience.

[ 9 ] This is true of earthly life. And as a result of exploring this spiritual reality into the spiritual realm, I had to say at that time to those theological friends who had come to me with the stated intention: If true community is to arise through the work of religious renewal, then we need a form of worship that is applicable to the present and well-adapted to our times. The shared experience of worship provides something that, simply by its very nature, evokes a sense of community in the human soul. And the Movement for Religious Renewal has understood this; it has embraced this form of worship, and I believe that what Dr. Rittelmeyer said here from this very spot a few days ago was a weighty statement: From this aspect of community-building, perhaps one of the greatest dangers to the anthroposophical movement arises from the Movement for Religious Renewal itself. For in this form of worship lies an immensely significant element of community-building. It binds person to person. Indeed, what is it about this form of worship that binds person to person—that can, and most certainly will, transform individuals who have been atomized by intellectualism and logic back into a community? This is evidently what Dr. Rittelmeyer meant; here lies the means for community building. But since the Anthroposophical Society also tends toward community building, it will have to find the means suited to its own nature if it is not to face a certain danger from the movement for religious renewal.

[ 10 ] Now, what is the secret of the community-building aspect inherent in the nature of worship, as it has been discovered specifically for this purpose by the movement for religious renewal? That which is expressed in the forms of worship—whether in ceremony or in word—is a reflection of real experiences; though not of real experiences undergone here on earth, but of real experiences in that world which the human being passes through in his pre-earthly existence, when he is on the second part of the path between death and a new birth, from that world which a human being traverses from that moment—which lies at the midnight hour of human existence between death and a new birth—until the descent into earthly life. In the realm that a human being passes through lie the world, the events, and the essences that find a true reflection in the genuine, authentic forms of worship. What, then, does the person who participates in the ritual feel toward the other with whom they are brought together by some karma—and karma is so intricate that we may certainly assume its presence wherever we are brought together with other human beings? They experience shared memories of their pre-earthly existence together with that person. These emerge from the subconscious depths of the soul. Before we descended to Earth, we lived through a world together that stands here before our souls on Earth in the ritual. This is a powerful bond; it is a genuine bringing in—not only of images, but of the forces of the supersensible world into the sensible world. But this is a bringing in of those forces from the supersensible world into the sensible world that intimately concern human beings, that are connected to the most intimate depths of the human soul. That is why worship binds us together: because in worship, what constitutes the forces of the spiritual worlds is brought down from those worlds, and because in his earthly life, human beings have before them what is supernatural. He does not encounter it in the rationalistic word, which causes one to forget the spiritual world—even in the subconscious depths of the soul—but rather in the living image, which is imbued with power—not merely a symbol, not a lifeless image, but a bearer of power—because he has before him that which belongs to his spiritual environment when he is not in his earthly body. A comprehensive, collective memory reaching into the spiritual realm—that is the community-building power of worship.

[ 11 ] The Anthroposophical Society also needs such a force so that a sense of community can emerge within it. But the basis for community-building in the anthroposophical movement may be of a different nature than in the movement for religious renewal, although one does not exclude the other; rather, the two can exist in the most beautiful harmony if the relationship is understood correctly in terms of feeling. But it must first be understood how another community-building element can enter human life. A memory transformed into the spiritual radiates toward us from the structure of the ritual. The structure of the ritual speaks to something deeper than the human intellect; it speaks to the human soul, for the human soul fundamentally understands the language of the spiritual, even though, in this earthly life, this language of the spiritual does not initially enter into immediate consciousness. And now, in order to understand the other element that must play a corresponding role in the Anthroposophical Society, it is necessary above all that you look not only at the mystery of language and memory in relation to the nature of community-building, but that you also look at something else in human life. Consider the state of the dreaming person, and compare this state to that of the fully awake person in daily life.

[ 12 ] The world of dreams—it may be beautiful, it may be magnificent, it may be rich in imagery, full of meaning, and open to many interpretations—but it is a world that isolates people from earthly life. A person is alone in the world of their dreams. There lies a person, sleeping and dreaming, while others are around them—whether sleeping or awake—and the worlds within their souls have, at first, nothing to do with what the person experiences in their dream consciousness; they have no connection to that dream consciousness. A person isolates themselves in their dream world, and even more so in their world of sleep. When we wake up, we immerse ourselves in a certain communal life. The space in which we are, in which the other person is—the sensation, the mental image of this space that he has—we share as well. To a certain extent, our surroundings awaken in us the same inner life of the soul as they do in him. As we awaken from the isolation of the dream, we awaken to a certain degree into human community simply through the very nature of our relationship as human beings to the outside world. We cease to be so firmly entrenched within ourselves, so entangled and encapsulated, as we were in the dream world—even if our dreams are as beautiful, as magnificent, as meaningful, and as ambiguous as they may be. But how do we awaken? We awaken to the external world; we awaken to light, to sound, to sensations of warmth, to all the other contents of the sensory world; but we also actually awaken—at least in ordinary, everyday life—to the outward appearance of other people, to the natural side of other people. In everyday life, we wake up to the natural world. It is this that awakens us; it is this that transports us from isolation into a certain kind of communal life. We do not yet awaken—and this is the mystery of everyday life—as human beings to other human beings, to the deepest inner core of the human being. We awaken to light, we awaken to sound, we awaken perhaps to the language that the other speaks to us as part of what is natural in human beings; we awaken to the words that they speak from the inside out. We do not awaken to what is taking place in the depths of the other person’s human soul. We awaken to the natural aspect of the other person; in ordinary everyday life, we do not awaken to the spiritual-soul aspect of the other person.

[ 13 ] This is a third awakening—or at least a third state of soul life. From the first, we awaken into the second through the call of nature. From the second, we awaken into the third state through the call of the spiritual-soul aspect in another human being. But we must first hear this call. Just as we awaken in the proper way to everyday earthly life through external nature, there is a higher-order awakening when we awaken in the right way to the spiritual-soul aspect of our fellow human beings—when we learn to feel within ourselves the spiritual-soul aspect of our fellow human beings just as we feel light and sound in our soul life upon ordinary awakening. No matter how beautiful the images we may see in the isolation of a dream, no matter how extraordinarily magnificent our experiences may be in this isolated dream consciousness—we will hardly be able to read, for example, at first, unless particularly abnormal states follow. We lack this connection to the outside world. Now, no matter how beautiful the ideas we may absorb from anthroposophy—from this teaching about a spiritual world—and no matter how thoroughly we may theoretically grasp everything that can be said about our etheric body, astral body, and so on, we still do not thereby understand the spiritual world. We begin to develop our first understanding of the spiritual world only when we awaken to the soul-spiritual nature of another human being. Only then does true understanding of anthroposophy begin. Indeed, it is incumbent upon us to proceed from that state—which can be called the awakening of the human being to the soul-spiritual nature of another human being—as the foundation for a true understanding of anthroposophy.

[ 14 ] The power for this awakening can be generated by planting spiritual idealism within a human community. People talk a lot about idealism these days. But within our contemporary culture and civilization, idealism is something rather flimsy. For true idealism exists only when a person can become aware that, just as he brings a spiritual world down into the earthly realm by establishing a form of worship, he also lifts something he has beheld, recognized, and come to understand in the earthly realm up into the supersensible-spiritual realm by elevating it to the ideal. We bring the supernatural into the image imbued with spiritual power when we celebrate the ritual form. We ascend into the supersensible with our soul life when we experience what we encounter in the physical world in such a spiritual-idealistic way that we learn to perceive it as having been experienced in the supersensible—when we learn to feel in such a way that we say to ourselves: What you have perceived here in the world of the senses suddenly comes alive when you elevate it to the ideal. It comes alive when you permeate it in the right way with feeling and the impulse of the will. When you radiate your entire inner being with the will and direct enthusiasm toward it, then—by idealizing your sensory experience—you take the opposite path from the one you take when you incorporate the supersensible into the form of worship. For whether we have a small or a large anthroposophical community, we can, in a certain sense, attain what is described in this characterization. We can attain it when we are truly able, through the living power we invest in shaping ideas of the spiritual, to experience something awakening, something that does not merely idealize what is sensually experienced in such a way that the ideal becomes an abstract thought, but rather in such a way that the ideal gains a higher life as we live ourselves into it, so that it becomes the counter-image of the ritual—namely, the sensual elevated into the supersensual. We can achieve this on an emotional level if we make it our concern, wherever we cultivate anthroposophy, to imbue this cultivation with spiritualized feeling; if we understand that even the door, even the entrance to the room—no matter how profane it may otherwise be— it is sanctified through shared anthroposophical reading—as something we enter with reverence. And we must be able to evoke the feeling that this is the case for each and every one who joins us in the shared experience of anthroposophical life. And we must be able to bring this not only to the level of our innermost abstract conviction, but to inner experience, so that in a room where we practice anthroposophy, we do not merely sit there as so many people who take in what is heard or read and transform it into their thoughts, but that through the entire process of taking in anthroposophical ideas, a truly real, spiritual being becomes present in the room where we practice anthroposophy. Just as the divine forces are present in a sensory way in the forms of worship that take place in the sensory world, we must learn, through our inner spiritual disposition—with our souls and our hearts—to allow a real spiritual being to be present supersensually in the room where the anthroposophical word resounds, and we must be able to orient our speech, our feelings, our thinking, and our impulses of will in a spiritual sense—that is, not in some abstract sense, but in the sense that we feel as though a being were looking down upon us and listening to us, a being that hovers above us and is truly present in a spiritual sense. We must sense a spiritual presence, a supersensible presence, which is there because we practice anthroposophy. Then the individual anthroposophical activity begins to become a realization of the supersensible itself.

[ 15 ] Go into primitive communities; there is something there besides mere language. Language is what resides in the higher human being. If you consider the whole human being, you will find in primitive human communities that which binds human beings together: the shared blood. Blood ties hold people together in community. But within that blood lives what is known as the group soul or group spirit—something that is not found in the same way among a free humanity. Into a group of people bound together by blood ties, a shared spiritual essence had moved in, as it were, from below. Wherever common blood flows through the veins of a number of people, a group spirit is present. In the same way, through what we experience together—by engaging with anthroposophy as a group—we can cultivate, not a group spirit based on blood, but a genuine spirit of community. If we are able to sense this, then we bind ourselves together as human beings into true communities. We simply must make anthroposophy a reality—by fostering an awareness within our anthroposophical communities that, as people come together for shared anthroposophical work, each person first awakens to the spiritual and soul aspects of the other. People awaken to one another, and as they come together again and again, they awaken to one another in a transformed state—each having gone through a different experience and made some progress in the meantime. This awakening is an awakening that unfolds in stages. And once you have discovered the possibility that human souls awaken to human souls and human spirits to human spirits—that you enter the anthroposophical communities with the living awareness: Only then do we become such awakened human beings that we can truly understand anthroposophy together, and when you then, on the basis of this understanding, take in the anthroposophical ideas into an awakened soul—not into the everyday soul that sleeps to higher existence—then the shared, real spirituality descends upon your workplace. Is it really true, then, when we speak of the supersensible world yet are unable to rise to the level of grasping such real spirituality, such a reversed form of worship? Only then are we truly immersed in the experience and comprehension of the spiritual within, when we do not merely hold the idea of this spiritual realm in an abstract sense and are able to articulate it theoretically—even to ourselves—but when we can believe—believe on the basis of a faith grounded in evidence—that spirits share a spiritual communion with us through spiritual perception. You cannot bring about the formation of an anthroposophical community through external institutions. You must bring it about from the deepest sources of human consciousness itself.

[ 16 ] I have shown you part of the way toward this today; I will continue my description of it tomorrow. Through such descriptions, I would like to point out a little that what is most important for the Anthroposophical Society—if it wishes to continue developing—is that it be truly imbued with a genuine understanding of anthroposophy. If this genuine understanding of anthroposophy is present, then this understanding is the path not merely to ideas about the spirit, but to communion with the spirit. Then, however, the awareness of this communion with the spiritual world also fosters community. And the communities that are predestined by karma will form. They will be an effect of true anthroposophical consciousness. No external means can be specified. If someone describes such means to you, they are describing something charlatan-like.

[ 17 ] Well, to a certain extent, such things have nevertheless been understood over the course of two decades of anthroposophical development—understood, too, by many in a spiritual sense—and I may have more to say about this tomorrow, for I will continue this discussion tomorrow and point toward a different goal. But for now, I would just like to add a few words to what this description of the spiritual foundations of anthroposophical community life may have stirred within you. On the one hand, the anthroposophical movement does indeed contain within it that from which such descriptions as I have just given you must arise. The Anthroposophical Society may appear one way or another in certain eras—but anthroposophy is independent of any anthroposophical society and can be found independently of such a society. However, it can indeed be found in a special way through people’s ability to awaken to one another, and in this way, out of this awakening, communities arise. For one awakens anew time and again with the people with whom one comes together; that is why one remains with them. There are inner spiritual reasons for this. This must be understood more and more within the Anthroposophical Society; and in fact, everything that is put forward for the flourishing of the Anthroposophical Society should be permeated by forces that ultimately lead everywhere into anthroposophy as such.

[ 18 ] I was deeply satisfied when, recently, after having participated in the meetings for weeks—smaller and larger gatherings in which preparations were made for what is now taking place at the Delegates’ Assembly—and after debates had taken place there, much as they do in parliaments, in associations, and elsewhere, based on ordinary, rational, everyday considerations, I found myself at a youth gathering, a gathering of young academics. There, too, we spoke about what is to come. Well, for a while we discussed external matters; but before we knew it, after a certain time, we were in the midst of a genuine anthroposophical discussion. The matters of everyday life flowed so naturally into such a current that we could only discuss things by speaking in anthroposophical terms. That would be the most beautiful thing—if one did not artificially, in a sentimental and contrived, nebulous way—as often happened—force anthroposophical theories out of thin air, but rather arrived at them naturally through the ordinary needs of life and the discussion of those needs: Now one no longer knows how to study, how to study chemistry or physics, unless one begins to speak of anthroposophy in order to inform oneself about the necessities of study. That is the spirit that can prevail among us.

[ 19 ] But we won’t reach a conclusion by tomorrow evening if things continue the way they have so far. We will only end up in tremendous chaos, in tragic chaos. For above all, we must not sentimentally grasp at straws, but rather we must pour anthroposophical impulses into our hearts—anthroposophical impulses in full clarity. Then our negotiations will be fruitful.

[ 20 ] But as things stand now, I see in this hall two factions, two groups of people who do not understand one another at all and who have not yet been able to take even the very first step toward mutual understanding. Why? Because on the one hand, we must speak from an experience dating back two decades—from what I took the liberty of describing briefly at the beginning of today’s talk—and on the other hand, there is no interest in this experience. This is by no means meant in any critical sense, but only in the sense of a concerned appeal. After all, we have seen that people—well-meaning people, people who are enthusiastic about anthroposophy in their own way—have simply cut short our discussions here by saying: “What do we care about all these presentations if they are just served up to us again?” —at a time when the very point is that those who are not yet familiar with it want to learn about the grave dangers to which the Anthroposophical Society is exposed. —On the one hand, there is a fundamental, natural—I would say—interest in life within the Anthroposophical Society, a life that has something of a family atmosphere, but also possesses the positive aspects of that family atmosphere; and on the other hand, there are those who are not interested in this, who have only a general mental image of what the Anthroposophical Society is. As things stand today, both perspectives are justified—so justified, in fact, that if we do not soon arrive at a completely different form of discussion, it would be for the very best—I am merely expressing my opinion, for what is to happen must emerge from within the Society itself—if, on the one hand, we were to leave the old Anthroposophical Society as it is, and, alongside it, establish an association of free anthroposophical communities for all those who now want something entirely different. Each group, on its own ground, could cultivate what is close to its heart. On the one hand, we would have the old Anthroposophical Society; on the other, we would have a loose but closely knit association of free communities. The two societies could find a way to coexist. It would certainly be better for this to come about than the hopeless situation that would inevitably arise by tomorrow evening if the discussion continues in the same way it has so far. That is why I ask you to also introduce this idea I have outlined into the further discussion, if you wish to avoid a falsehood that would consist in a compromise, regardless of whether the old structure is left as is or reformed. If things remain as they are, with one side failing to understand the other, then let us establish these two associations I have outlined within the anthroposophical movement. I say this to you from a concerned, indeed deeply concerned, heart; for no one will deny that I understand what it means to care for the anthroposophical cause. Nor will anyone deny that I myself know what it means to love the anthroposophical cause. But it is better to have two siblings who love one another, each following their own path, coming together only in a shared ideal, than to have something that would, after a short time, lead back into chaos once again.

[ 21 ] My dear friends, you must not overlook the fact that the things causing us difficulties are the individual justifications. That should have been clearly highlighted. I do not even wish to claim that the last Central Executive Committee essentially accomplished more in terms of substantive work than the previous one—at any rate, no more than I accomplished in a similar capacity at the central level when I was General Secretary. But that is not the point. The point is this: What should have happened in the anthroposophical sense after the individual foundations were established here in Stuttgart?—This question must be answered. For today we cannot simply do away with these foundations. We must inform ourselves about their conditions of existence now that they are here. But if we do not learn to shape them in the anthroposophical sense—something we have failed to do over the past four years—and if we treat them as foreign bodies within the anthroposophical movement, as has happened, then the branches that have emerged since 1919 will ruin the entire anthroposophical movement. Then they will ruin every Central Executive Council, whatever its name may be. Therefore, the task at hand is to conduct objective, not personal, discussions and to clarify how the Anthroposophical Society should be structured now that it has incorporated these institutions—one of which is as wonderful as the Waldorf School. Not a word has been said about this, because those who are familiar with the events taking place in Stuttgart have, in fact, remained more or less silent up to now. I would particularly like to ask that the two gentlemen from the Executive Council—I always exclude the third gentleman, Mr. Leinhas, who is the only one who has helped me intensively in an important matter and continues to do so; in his case, I cannot even ask that he devote himself to the Executive Council, although he belongs there in the most eminent sense—I would like to ask that the other two gentlemen of the Executive Council comment on this matter. This is not a matter of defense or anything of the sort, but rather about what they have to say regarding a future structure of the Anthroposophical Society that has the capacity to incorporate the justifications that have existed since 1919. Otherwise, these justifications have been made irresponsibly. They must not be ignored, simply because they exist. These questions are serious in the most profound sense. And we must address them; we must conduct the discussion objectively and not personally. I meant the words I am speaking here now to be entirely objective, not so much directed at any one person or persons on the Executive Council. No individuals are being disparaged, but I believe that what I have once again pointed out sharply must be discussed. If these two associations are indeed established, then the one that is the continuation of the old Anthroposophical Society could take care of what has emerged from the very heart of the Society—just as one must; and the other, because it has no interest in that, could pursue the anthroposophical path in the narrower sense. I wanted to outline this briefly. I will then speak in more detail about the specifics tomorrow at noon.