The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Seventh Lecture

[ 1 ] However, at this gathering as well, I would have liked—as I do in other lectures before the dear members of the Anthroposophical Society—to speak specifically about anthroposophy. But the entire course of this gathering—everything that has taken place over the past few days—prompts me to address precisely those questions that lie within the immediate scope of this gathering’s interest. Hopefully there will be another opportunity—perhaps not all at once with all of you, but on repeated occasions with individual groups among you—to speak about anthroposophy in the narrower sense. But these two lectures in particular are intended to show how anthroposophy can truly become a kind of wisdom for living, how it can flow into our daily intentions and into the attitude that shapes our daily lives. And so, specifically for the topics to be discussed here, I would like to provide some background information from an anthroposophical perspective. Yesterday I spoke in this vein about the formation of community possible within the Anthroposophical Society, and I would like to follow this up by discussing a few points that demonstrate how, in fact, the anthroposophical view of the world leads to a more correct way of living than is possible without it.

[ 2 ] Here, in a sense to illustrate the opposite of what I spoke about yesterday, I would like to begin with something that is well known to those familiar with the history of societies based on principles similar to those of this Anthroposophical Society. I will then later also briefly outline what distinguishes this Anthroposophical Society from others; but first I would like to point out that there have indeed been many societies in the world that base their existence on some kind of insight into the spiritual world—graded, of course, according to what was possible in the successive historical epochs of human development, and also, of course, according to the possibilities available based on the character and abilities of the people who participated in such societies. Within the vast multitude of such societies, one finds every gradation, from the most serious and truly significant to those with charlatan-like content. But there is one thing that those familiar with the history of such societies know very well indeed. That is that a kind of moral atmosphere is always created in such societies—and indeed with a certain inevitability when certain conditions are present—of which one can say: The aim among the members of such societies is genuine, true human brotherhood. — So that, as a rule, the bylaws of such societies also include this provision—and, as mentioned, necessarily so—that on the one hand, brotherhood is sought, and on the other, insight into the spiritual worlds. Now, what those familiar with the history of such societies know is that it is precisely in these societies, founded on brotherhood and spiritual insight, that the most disputes arise, that the greatest opportunities are found for discord, for drifting apart, to the formation of independent groups within larger communities, to the secession of groups, to the fierce opposition against those who have remained behind, those who have left, and so on—in short, that what might be called human strife actually flourishes most abundantly in these brotherhood societies. This is a peculiar phenomenon. But anthroposophy also gives us the opportunity to understand this phenomenon on the basis of its own insights. And what I am saying in these two lectures also belongs—if I may put it pedantically—to the system of anthroposophy. So this is not meant to be a general discussion lecture, but rather—in the context of this gathering—an anthroposophical one.

[ 3 ] If we go back once more to what I mentioned yesterday, we find the three stages of human experience in relation to the phenomenon of human consciousness. We find the person who is in deep sleep—or, more specifically, in the sleep of dreaming—and who thus, within a certain—for my purposes, subordinate—state of consciousness, experiences a certain world of images that he regards as his reality while dreaming. We know that this person is isolated from the other people with whom he lives in the physical world; they do not share common experiences with him. There is no means of exchange for what he experiences. We know, then, that a person can emerge from this state of consciousness into ordinary everyday consciousness, to which he is awakened, as I explained yesterday, by the external natural world, including the external natural world of other people. There, simply through natural instincts and the necessities of life, a certain sense of community already awakens, which is then met by language.

[ 4 ] But let us now take a look at the intermingling of these two states of consciousness. As long as a person lives under completely normal conditions—as long as their normal mental and physical state temporally separates what they experience as an isolated individual in a dream from what they experience together with other people—they will live in their dream world and in the ordinary world of reality in a way that is appropriate for them and for others. But let us suppose that, due to some factor—let us call it pathological for the sake of argument, since that is what it must be called in this case—a person finds themselves in a situation where, in their waking daytime consciousness—that is, when they are with other people—they do not produce the same mental images and sensations that other people have. Let us assume that, due to the pathological nature of his constitution, he brings into his waking daytime consciousness a world of mental images or sensations that is similar to that of a dream. Instead of a logical structure of his thoughts, he brings in a world of images similar to the world of dream images. We do not consider such a person to be mentally healthy. But what should interest us most now is that such a person does not understand others, nor do others understand him—unless they view him strictly in medical or pathological terms. The moment the mental state of this other—let us say, inferior—state of consciousness is transferred into a—let us say, higher—state of consciousness, at that very moment the person becomes a blatant egoist among people. You need only consider this, and you will see that such a person pursues only what he imagines for himself; he comes into conflict with others because they cannot understand his reasons; he can go to the most extreme lengths because he does not live in a shared spiritual world with others.

[ 5 ] Now let us move from these two levels of consciousness to the other two: to everyday consciousness, to which we are led by the natural course of external events, and let us contrast it with the other—in my view, higher—state of consciousness, which, as I explained yesterday, can awaken in a certain way by becoming aware not merely of the natural aspects of the environment, but of the inner life of another person. Thus, even if it is not usually immediately and clearly present in consciousness, one awakens to such a level of consciousness. There are, of course, many other ways to enter the higher worlds—as you all know from my book *How Does One Gain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?*—but during those moments when one is fortunate enough to spend time with other people in an appropriate manner, one can be transported into the possibility of comprehending and experiencing things that one would otherwise not comprehend or experience. This opens up the possibility of first living with what the expert on the spiritual world describes using terms that refer to this spiritual world. It opens up the possibility of speaking about the physical body, the etheric body, the astral body, and the I. It opens up the possibility of speaking about repeated earthly lives and the karmic connections between them. Yes, now there is the possibility of carrying the entire state of the soul from everyday consciousness into this higher world of which one has become a part. On another level, this is the same as carrying the configuration of dreamlike imagery into everyday life. At a certain level, one becomes an egoist in a completely natural way. One becomes so if one does not realize: You must view that which belongs to a higher, spiritual, and supersensory world in a completely different way than that which belongs to the sensory world. You must learn to think differently and feel differently. Just as the dreamer must, so to speak, snap into a completely different state of consciousness—if I may put it that way—if he wants to live in everyday consciousness with other people, so it is necessary to become aware that: One cannot view the things presented to one in anthroposophy with the same state of mind as one uses to view the things presented to one in everyday consciousness.

[ 6 ] This is precisely where the difficulty lies in achieving understanding between this everyday consciousness—which is, after all, also our ordinary scientific consciousness—and that which must be provided by anthroposophy. When people come and speak back and forth—one with everyday consciousness, that is, also with ordinary scientific consciousness, and the other with a consciousness that has truly developed to make the judgments that must apply in a supersensible world—then it is just as if someone recounting dreams were trying to communicate with another who is telling him about things in external reality. And when several people come together based on what they have from everyday consciousness—rather than rising with full awareness to the supersensible world—when such people come together simply to hear the language of the supersensible world while still in their everyday state of mind, then there is an infinitely great, an immeasurably great possibility that they will come into conflict, because they naturally become egoists toward one another. There is, however, a powerful remedy for this, though it too must first be developed within the human soul. This is the remedy of the most deeply felt, soul-infused tolerance. But this must be cultivated. In the ordinary consciousness of everyday life, a fairly minimal degree of tolerance suffices for the needs that most people have, and much is simply corrected by the natural environment. But in this ordinary consciousness of everyday life—and anyone with life experience knows this—it is often the case that when two people are talking to each other, they very often do not care at all about listening to the other person. Today, the custom has become so ingrained that one is hardly heard at all; rather, as soon as one has spoken a quarter of a sentence, the other person begins to speak, because they are not actually interested in what one is saying, but are concerned only with their own opinion. This works—albeit in a painful way—in the physical world. It no longer works in the spiritual world. In the spiritual world, the utmost tolerance must permeate the soul. One must train oneself to calmly accept even that with which one does not agree in the slightest—not merely with a haughty tolerance, but in such a way that, in a certain sense, one tolerates it objectively and from the depths of one’s being as a legitimate expression of the other person. In the higher worlds, there is actually very little point in raising objections to anything; those who are experienced in the realities of the higher worlds know that the most opposing views can be expressed regarding a single fact—for example, by themselves and by another person. If he is able to accept the other person’s opposing view with the same tolerance—please, listen to this!—as his own, only then does he acquire the necessary social state of mind for experiencing what is proclaimed in theory from the higher worlds. This moral foundation is precisely what is necessary for a proper relationship between human beings and the higher worlds. And the arguments in such societies, as I have characterized them, are simply based on the fact that when the sensation arises, people tend to accept: “Human beings have not only a physical body, but also an etheric body, an astral body, an ‘I,’ and so on”—they accept this out of mere sensation, but fail to transform their soul into the state necessary to experience it differently than one experiences a table or a chair in the physical world—which, after all, are also experienced differently in the physical world than in a dream. So when people carry their habitual mental disposition into their supposed understanding of the teachings from the higher world, this naturally leads them to selfishness and conflict.

[ 7 ] Thus, it becomes clear—precisely through an understanding of the unique nature of the higher worlds—that conflict and strife can very easily arise, especially in communities with a spiritual focus, and that it is necessary to educate oneself for such communities in such a way that one tolerates others to an immeasurably greater degree than one is accustomed to in the physical world. Becoming an anthroposophist does not merely mean getting to know anthroposophy as a theory; rather, being an anthroposophist requires, in a certain sense, a transformation of the soul. But certain people do not want this. That is why it was never understood when I said: There are two ways, for example, to engage with my book *Theosophy*. One is to read it—or, for all I care, to study it—by approaching it with one’s usual state of mind and judging it in accordance with that state of mind. In that case, the quality of the mental process is exactly the same, whether one is reading *Theosophy* or a cookbook. In terms of the value of the experience, there is then no difference between reading *Theosophy* and reading a cookbook, except that when one does so, one is simply dreaming on a higher level while reading *Theosophy*—not living. And when one dreams of higher worlds in this way, what emerges from the impulses of those higher worlds is not the greatest unity among people, nor the greatest possible tolerance as an achievement; rather, instead of the unity that can be the very gift of studying the higher worlds, there is ever-widening strife and quarrel. Thus, you have established the conditions for strife and quarrels in societies based on a certain insight into the spiritual worlds.

[ 8 ] I said that the various paths leading into the spiritual worlds are the ones I have described in part in the book *How Does One Gain Insight into the Higher Worlds?*. Now, if someone must engage more intensively in seeking knowledge of the higher worlds, then—as you can now understand from what I explained yesterday and today in connection with something entirely different—this will require a certain state of mind. And so, in particular, a certain state of mind will be necessary for the true spiritual researcher. For one does not find the truth in the supersensible realm if one is constantly compelled to impose upon the soul what takes place quite legitimately in the physical world, if, during spiritual research, one must constantly concern oneself with that which demands that one think in terms of the physical world. Now you will admit that anyone who responsibly communicates something from the spiritual worlds to his fellow human beings—and who, simply according to the terminology used in conventional science, can call himself a spiritual researcher—needs a great deal of time for his research. And with that, you will find it justified that I myself need time to investigate what is now gradually being presented by me in an ever-expanding form as a Spiritual Science, as anthroposophy.

[ 9 ] Of course, one can create this time for oneself, according to one’s destiny, when one stands entirely alone. For anyone who is a true spiritual researcher and who wishes to responsibly share with his fellow human beings what he finds in the spiritual world will naturally acquire the habit—and this is entirely natural—of not worrying about his opponents. He knows that he must have opponents, but it does not matter to him if people object to what he says; he can raise those objections himself. And so it is a natural state of mind for the spiritual researcher to follow his path in a positive manner and not to concern himself much with objections, unless there is a specific reason to do so here or there.

[ 10 ] However, one cannot maintain this state of mind when one has the Anthroposophical Society at one’s side. For then, in addition to the mere responsibility toward the truth, there is also a responsibility toward what the Society does—a Society which, as is so often said, seeks to make itself an instrument of this truth. One must therefore share in the responsibilities of this Society. Well, to a certain extent, this can still go hand in hand with the proper attitude toward one’s opponents. That is how things were for me and this Anthroposophical Society up until 1918. I paid as little attention as possible to the objections that were raised—and this, as paradoxical as it may sound, stemmed from the very tolerance I have just described to you. Why should I be so intolerant as to constantly refute my opponents? Everything will fall into place through the natural progress of human development. And that is why I can say: Although not entirely, this matter was largely in order up until 1918. —But when a society begins to take things into itself, as our Anthroposophical Society has done since 1919, then one assumes responsibilities toward these individual things that have been taken in; then the fate of these things becomes linked to the fate of the Anthroposophical Society, and in turn, the fate of the Anthroposophical Society becomes linked to the fate of the spiritual researcher. And then the alternative arises: Either the spiritual researcher must now take it upon himself to defend himself against his opponents—that is, to concern himself with all sorts of things that are bound to distract him from spiritual research, because one cannot do both at the same time; or else, because he must make time for his spiritual research, he is compelled to leave the handling of his opponents to those who, in a certain sense, have assumed responsibility for the externally grounded aspects. For this reason, too—based on inner anthroposophical considerations—the situation within our Anthroposophical Society has become fundamentally different since 1919. Consequently, because this Society has decided to provide such external justifications through certain of its members—and because the foundation upon which all this rests is, after all, anthroposophy—this foundation must be defended precisely by those who do not bear full responsibility for the inner validity of what must be added day by day to spiritual research through genuine research.

[ 11 ] A large portion of the opponents are, in fact, of such a nature that they live within certain very specific contexts of life. For example, they have studied this or that here or there. In those circles, it is customary to think one way or another about certain matters. Because they are compelled to think this way or that, they are bound to become opponents of anthroposophy. They do not even know why they must become opponents; rather, they must do so because they are unconsciously bound by the influences of their upbringing and life experiences. That is the inner reality. Externally, the situation is such that, naturally, for the sake of the flourishing or downfall of what was founded with the Anthroposophical Society, such opponents must also be defeated in the appropriate manner.

[ 12 ] But the true leaders of the opposition know very well what they want. For among them are those who are well acquainted with the principles of spiritual research—albeit from a perspective other than the anthroposophical one—and who know that the best strategy is to constantly bombard those who need peace and quiet for spiritual research with opposing writings and objections, so that they may be diverted from their spiritual research. For they know very well that refuting opponents cannot be reconciled with spiritual research. They want to throw a stick in one’s path by pitting these things against one. Thus, the very act of writing these things is the adversarial act. To those who actually know what matters, it is not so much a matter of what is written in their books, but rather that these books are hurled at the spiritual researcher’s head. And they are particularly keen to use all sorts of tricks and similar means to force him into a position where he must defend himself.

[ 13 ] These matters must be viewed with complete objectivity. Understanding them is also the responsibility of those who wish to hold a rightful place within the Anthroposophical Society. Now, what I have just said is something that many people know. However, among many who know this, it is quite common practice not to speak about it to outsiders. As experience shows, such a thing has long since become impossible to carry out within the Anthroposophical Society. Cycles were printed within the Anthroposophical Society bearing the notation “For members only.” Today, in Germany and elsewhere, one can go to public libraries and borrow these cycles. Even those who are not members of the Anthroposophical Society can obtain all the cycles, and the nature of the opposing writings proves that they have them, even if it was sometimes difficult to obtain them. But these people are far less averse to difficulties than anthroposophists sometimes are. That kind of secretarial practice, which many societies may still engage in today, is precisely what is not possible in the Anthroposophical Society—a society with its own unique character, where everyone is meant to remain a free individual, where one makes no pledge but simply joins to become an honest seeker of truth—a society that must be constituted in the most modern sense. And I do not strive to make it possible. If I did strive for that, I would not be recommending to you now that you establish a loose association alongside the old Anthroposophical Society. For you will see how many more outlets—I do not condemn these—will be created through this loose association for those things that older members believe they must keep locked away in their closets, bringing them out into the broad public sphere. But anyone who does not wish to organize anthroposophy in accordance with the most modern ways of thinking and feeling among people simply does not understand its innermost impulse. That is why it is all the more necessary to grasp the conditions for such a society.

[ 14 ] I am now citing something not out of mere frivolity, but as an example drawn from my own experience. Last summer, I gave a series of lectures in Oxford on the pedagogy practiced in Waldorf schools. An article appeared in an English journal—I won’t quote it verbatim, but in essence—that begins roughly as follows: Anyone who happened to wander into the lectures of this Oxford educational series as a mere outsider—if they had not known who Dr. Steiner is and that he has something to do with anthroposophy—would not have been able to tell at all that a representative of anthroposophy was speaking; rather, they might have taken him for someone speaking about pedagogy, only from a different perspective than the one one might hold oneself. — I was extremely pleased by this characterization, because it shows that there are people who notice what I would like to achieve—that one does not immediately assume, upon hearing the individual explanations I give, that “this is from the anthroposophical point of view.” - And indeed, that is the case. But one can only truly adopt this perspective if it leads to objectivity, if it does not result in one-sidedness, but rather allows one to recognize and judge every detail from within oneself.

[ 15 ] And before I gave this Oxford lecture series—that is, even before this article was published—I once conducted an experiment that might seem very insignificant to you. I was also at the Vienna Congress in June; I gave twelve lectures there over the course of two series. I set myself the task of ensuring that the word “anthroposophy” would not appear in any of the twelve lectures, and it does not appear. Nor does anything appear in which one might say, for example: “The anthroposophical worldview says this or that.” - Of course, precisely for that reason, everything was anthroposophical. I do not wish to say, in a pedantic or philistine way, that we should make it a point of policy for anthroposophists never to utter the word “anthroposophy.” Naturally, I do not want that. But the spirit from which one must act if one wishes to relate to the world in the right way—that spirit is sought in this manner. This spirit should also be allowed to act freely within the active and leading figures of the Anthroposophical Society. Otherwise, I myself will once again be held responsible for whatever is done within the Anthroposophical Society that is un-anthroposophical. And then the world will, quite rightly, equate one thing with the other. So in such matters, too, it is a question of grasping the objective spirit of anthroposophy in the right way, and above all of bringing this spirit of anthroposophy to bear. To do this, however, one must first educate oneself to a certain degree. But this self-education is necessary within the circles of the Anthroposophical Society; and in this regard—influenced in part by the new organizations—countless mistakes have been made in recent years. I state this objectively, without intending to offend anyone personally.

[ 16 ] If the Anthroposophical Society is to flourish, every single member must simply develop a full awareness of these things. However, given the nature of today’s social conditions, this can only be achieved by fostering lively communication—even if only, say, through newsletters or similar means—between the individual circles of the Anthroposophical Society. This, however, requires a lively interest on the part of the individual member—I do not say “member”—of the Anthroposophical Society in the affairs of the entire Society and, above all, in the development of anthroposophy itself. There is much lacking in this regard as well. If there were no Anthroposophical Society, there would probably still be a certain number of anthroposophical books in circulation. But as an organization, we would not have to concern ourselves at all with those who read them. They would be scattered throughout the world, perhaps even forming communities according to their karma; but we would not need to be outwardly connected to them ourselves. This does not change much for the spiritual researcher, even if the Society has a character such as ours had up until 1918. That changes immediately when responsibilities applicable to the physical plane are linked to the Anthroposophical Society. I am stating these things more decisively today than usual, but I did say them in one form or another back then, when we were at the very beginning of the Society’s founding. After all, I couldn’t whisper them into the ear of every single anthroposophical member; I don’t even know if that would have been of much use. But the Anthroposophical Society was there, after all, and had leading figures. They must ensure that this society is in such a state that it can truly incorporate these things without endangering anthroposophical research.

[ 17 ] That, I would say, is the negative perspective on community-building, whereas yesterday I presented the positive one to you. I would like to say that anyone who strives for such community-building—as I have described its conditions in a positive light—must be aware of everything connected, in the manner described today, with progress within the Anthroposophical Society and with the life of the Anthroposophical Society. And this must be taken into account, particularly in the individual areas of anthroposophical life.

[ 18 ] In this regard, for example, the following is worth noting, which I believe is exceptionally instructive. I am once again referring to the tragic chapter concerning the Goetheanum that is no longer with us. In September and October of 1920, we were able to hold the first—as it was called—“High School Course” in this Goetheanum over the course of three weeks. I described yesterday how this Goetheanum has a very specific artistic style born out of the anthroposophical sensibility. How did this style come about? It came into being when, in 1913, a number of individuals—to whom we cannot thank enough—undertook to build a home for what existed at that time in the narrower sense of anthroposophy and for whatever might yet emerge from this anthroposophy in that narrower sense, that is, to build a home for the drama of the Mysteries, a home for eurythmy—which was still in its infancy at the time but already showed great promise for such endeavors—and, above all, a home for the actual anthroposophical reflections that, based on research in Spiritual Science, sketch out worldviews. That was my intention at the time, as I was the representative of these individuals—or at least regarded myself as such. My task was to erect a building for this work in a style that was artistically appropriate to it. That became the Goetheanum. At that time, there were not yet any scholars or scientists in our midst. Anthroposophy had advanced into the realm of science to a certain extent. But what later came to pass—namely, that individual disciplines were addressed within the Anthroposophical Society—did not exist at that time. What emerged did so in such a way that it sprang directly from anthroposophy, just as the entire Waldorf school pedagogy ultimately did; that is, after all, the prime example of how something arose entirely from anthroposophy. An artistic style had to be found for such things. In my conviction, that style was found in the Goetheanum. The war delayed the construction of the Goetheanum somewhat. In 1920, the series of lectures I just mentioned was then held. It was held in response to an impulse that had already come from the scholars who had by then joined the Anthroposophical Society in such a gratifying way. It was also organized and given a program by these scholars. The program was presented to me. In my view, the Anthroposophical Society is characterized by the most absolute freedom. Many people in the outside world imagine that the only things that happen in this Anthroposophical Society are those that Steiner imagines. Most of the time, however, things happen that he would never have imagined at all. But the Anthroposophical Society is not there for me; rather, the Anthroposophical Society is there for the anthroposophists. And so I sat there, truly paying close attention, during these lecture series in September and October 1920—I am merely offering a glimpse, not a critique—and I let my eyes wander over the interior of the building. In the weekly journal *Das Goetheanum*, I described how, for example, in the art of eurythmy, the lines of the Goetheanum continue into human movement; but according to the original intentions, this was supposed to be the case for everything at the Goetheanum. So I let my inner gaze wander over the way in which this interior architecture, sculpture, and painting corresponded to what the speakers were saying from the podium. And there I found—it wasn’t necessary to rub it in people’s faces back then: everything that, in the best sense of the word, constituted an anthroposophical tableau, where anthroposophy was spoken of in the strictest sense, fit wonderfully with the architectural style. For a whole series of lectures, however, one had the feeling: Yes, these should really only be given once the Goetheanum has managed to erect a whole series of annexes, which in turn will be designed in such a way that they harmonize with these special studies and special considerations. The Goetheanum, in its nearly ten-year history, has truly shared in the fate of the Anthroposophical Society, and it has been easy to discern—through a sense of the harmony or disharmony between the architectural style and what was taking place inside—how, in fact, something inorganic has crept into the very flow of the anthroposophical spiritual movement.

[ 19 ] Well, this is certainly not meant as a criticism or to suggest that anything should not have been that way. Of course, there was a necessity for all of this to happen as it did. But on the other hand, this gave rise to another necessity: that chemistry, physics, mathematics, and so on were now reborn, born anew out of anthroposophy, in order to bring about the described jolt of consciousness. For the ordinary way of looking at things simply isn’t enough when one is to speak in anthroposophical terms. This jolt wasn’t always there. At the Goetheanum, it was evident in the artistic style; in the Anthroposophical Society, one can see it in the phenomenon that has coalesced into the cloud that has been covering us these past few days. And the task was there—and must remain a task for the future—that now, after science has already flowed in—for which we are, of course, grateful to fate itself—it must be reborn out of anthroposophy. And there is no point in getting lost in all sorts of meaningless polemics; rather, the most urgent task above all is to give birth anew to the individual disciplines from within anthroposophy. A kind of surrogate was created during a time when one had to strive for a substitute at all costs. I was frequently asked—again, this arose out of necessity—to give lecture series for this or that group on topics that might otherwise have developed only later, at the proper pace of anthroposophical continuity. Thus, these lecture series came into being. For these lecture series, it would have been necessary above all to use them to revive the individual sciences from within anthroposophy. That was the anthroposophical interest. And this interest would have been precisely what would have borne fruit for the development of the Anthroposophical Society in the most eminent sense. All these things must be known. You see, my dear friends, in the course of the various seminars held here and there as part of the School of Spiritual Science courses, I have time and again set tasks including one for mathematical physicists in the last lecture I was able to give in the small hall of the Goetheanum during the natural science course, which was held toward the end of 1922 and was supposed to continue at the Goetheanum after New Year’s 1923. There I spoke once more of how necessary it would be to solve the problem of how to express three-dimensional space in mathematical formulas in contrast to two-dimensional space; and similar topics have come up time and again. Specifically, the subject that the times were pressing for was already there, but all of this had to be processed in such an anthroposophical way that it could still offer something to the broadest circles of anthroposophy—who cannot concern themselves further with three-dimensional space and visual space and so on. For there are ways in which what one person may be able to do—albeit in a limited way—can then bear fruit for a large number of people when cast into a completely different form. Thus, precisely because of the—as I might put it—extraordinarily hasty arrangements that have been made since 1919, namely—and this must be emphasized again and again—because of the fact that certain individuals established all sorts of things and subsequently did not continue to participate in what they themselves had established, difficulty upon difficulty has arisen, and it is precisely from these difficulties that everything we now face has resulted. But none of this constitutes an objection to anthroposophy itself.

[ 20 ] And this is what those present here should be aware of: that it is indeed possible to explain in detail, in every instance, how these difficulties arose, and that it can be strongly emphasized that there is no justification for anthroposophy itself to be criticized in any way because of these difficulties. That is why, following this deeper discussion, I would like to correct a statement that was made here yesterday from this podium—a statement that, precisely because of my awareness of the very things I have just spoken about, I found offensive. It was said—or something to that effect—that people were not aware that the anthroposophical movement could be destroyed by its opponents. It cannot be. Opponents can pose the greatest danger to the Anthroposophical Society—or, for that matter, to me personally, and so on. But the Anthroposophical Movement itself cannot be harmed; at most, it can be held back by its opponents. And in this regard, and in many similar contexts, it has been emphasized in recent years—often by myself as well—that one must distinguish between the Anthroposophical Movement and the Anthroposophical Society. This has not been emphasized because the Anthroposophical Society should no longer be taken into account, but rather because, in fact, the anthroposophical movement and the Anthroposophical Society relate to one another like content and vessel—and for the individual human being as well, like content and vessel. And in this area, too, one must—I would say—be fully conscious of clear ideas. One must neither conflate anthroposophy and the Anthroposophical Society, nor must one fail to recognize that, through the developments of the last three to four years, the actual external unfolding of anthroposophy has become intimately intertwined in its destiny with that of the Anthroposophical Society for the members of the Anthroposophical Society. The two seem so closely related; yet they must be sharply distinguished from one another.

[ 21 ] Theoretically speaking, a Waldorf school could exist even if the Anthroposophical Society had never been founded; in reality, however, this would not be the case, because the people who contributed to its founding, leadership, and support—and so on—would not have been there. The real logic—the logic of reality—is therefore quite different from the abstract logic of the intellect. It is important to understand this as a member of the Anthroposophical Society. As such a member, one must at least gain some impression—however purely emotional it may be—of how an awareness that the supersensible is experienced in a different way than the ordinary physical world is absolutely essential for grasping the higher worlds. That is why something in the physical world can seem just as real to one as the content of a dream seems real when one is the dreamer oneself; but that does not change the fact that carrying the context of a dream into the context of everyday consciousness remains an abnormal and harmful phenomenon. And so, too, carrying into the consciousness one is meant to develop when comprehending spiritual worlds all those things of which one is rightly convinced in ordinary everyday consciousness is harmful.

[ 22 ] I can explain this to you using a very specific example. Because people in recent times have fallen so deeply into intellectualism and the external-empirical, it has already become a catchphrase—even for those who are not particularly well-versed in science—to say: “Yes, if you say anything at all, you have to prove it.” —And by this they mean a very specific form of applying mediating thought. They simply know nothing of the direct relationship the human soul can have to truths—which is a direct apprehension of truth, just as the eye does not prove the redness but simply beholds it. But in the realm of the intellectual and rational, one must allow one conceptual element to emerge from another. On the physical plane, it is as good as it gets to become intelligent by being able to prove an enormous amount, by having a good technique for proving things, and by having the process of proving go as smoothly as can be. This is very good for the physical plane, and also for the sciences that work for the physical plane. And for those who are spiritual researchers, it is also beneficial to have a strong command of this technique of proof in the physical world. Those who familiarize themselves more closely with the intentions of our research institute will see that, in all matters where this kind of proof is applicable, we apply it as well. But—let me use this grotesque word—when it comes to understanding the higher worlds, if one brings this method of proving into them just as one brings the context of dreams into the reality of everyday consciousness, one becomes foolish. For this method of proving in the higher worlds is exactly the same as bringing the context of dreams into the reality of everyday consciousness. Nowadays, people have come to take this “proving” for granted. In some areas, the paralyzing effect of this “proving” has even become terrible.

[ 23 ] Religion, which is based on absolutely nothing—and in its earlier forms on nothing that has to do with intellectual or rational proofs, but rather with intuition—has become a rationalistic theory that seeks to prove itself. Through its most extreme proponents, it is gradually proving that religion as a whole is not true. This is, in essence, self-evident, because just as one becomes abnormal when one carries the logic of dreams into one’s everyday consciousness, one becomes abnormal in relation to the consciousness of the higher worlds when one carries the connections that rightly apply in the physical world [into the higher worlds]. Theology has either become a “real science” that simply accepts things as they are, or a science of proof that is capable not of justifying religion, but of destroying it.

[ 24 ] These, my dear friends, are the things that must be experienced with keen awareness within the Anthroposophical Society. For if this is not the case, then from the very beginning one does not enter the human world, into life, as a well-rounded human being who is reasonable on all levels of existence ...

[ 25 ] The spiritual researcher has no need to present evidence against his opponents, for whatever objections might be raised against what I say, my opponents need only draw from my own writings, since I point out wherever necessary what physical evidence for the supernatural actually looks like. One can always find somewhere a corresponding statement—one that an opponent might use against me—that I myself have made, so that, in order to refute me, one would actually need only to copy me for the most part. But the point is that one must acquire an awareness of all these details within the Anthroposophical Society. Then one will stand firm within the Society; one will stand firm both in the physical world and in all possible worlds once one has engaged with the anthroposophical worldview.

[ 26 ] Then, however, the capacity for human love, social harmony, and everything that is part of social life will also be drawn from anthroposophical impulses. Then, instead of strife and discord, instead of division and secession, true human unity among all anthroposophists will be able to emerge, despite all isolation. And then, even though one is a believer in the insights from the higher worlds, one will not go about in the physical world like a dreamer, but will be able to behave like a person with both feet firmly planted in reality, because one has become accustomed to not mixing the two, just as dream reality and the reality of the physical plane must not be mixed in ordinary life.

[ 27 ] Nevertheless, what matters most for all those who wish to come together in the Anthroposophical Society as true members of the anthroposophical movement—in the fullest, most genuine sense of the word—is the cultivation of a certain state of soul, a certain state of consciousness. If we imbue ourselves with this state of mind, if we imbue ourselves with this state of consciousness, then we will establish a true anthroposophical community; and then, because the potential certainly lies within it, the Anthroposophical Society will also be able to flourish and thrive.