The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Fourth Lecture

[ 1 ] Yesterday I tried to outline how one might approach the first part of a lecture on the threefold social order before a certain audience, and I pointed out that it is particularly necessary to evoke a sense of the special character of spiritual life as an end in itself. The second part will be concerned with making it comprehensible to contemporary humanity in the first place that there can be such a thing as a democratic-political framework that strives for equality. For in fact—and this must be borne in mind, especially when preparing for such a lecture—the reality is that modern people have no sense at all of a state structure built upon the rule of law as its very foundation. And this part—the political-state part of the lecture—will be particularly difficult to address within the Swiss context. And it will be particularly important that the speakers who wish to advocate the threefold social order within the Swiss context proceed precisely from these specific Swiss conditions, and especially that, in the middle section—the legal-state section—they take into account how one must speak in light of the Swiss context. For the situation is generally as follows: Due to the conditions of recent human development, actual state life as such—which should properly be lived out in a constitutional state—has essentially disappeared, and what is actually taking place within the state is a chaotic coexistence of the spiritual elements of human existence and the economic elements. One could say: In modern states, the spiritual and economic elements have gradually fused together, and actual state life has, in the meantime, simply fallen by the wayside—it has, in fact, disappeared.

[ 2 ] This is particularly noticeable in the Swiss context. Everywhere we see what amounts to an apparent democratization of intellectual life—one that is impossible in its actual form—along with a democratization of economic life, and the fact that people believe this seemingly democratized mixture of intellectual and economic life to be a democracy. And since they have formed their mental image of democracy from this mixture—since they thus have a completely illusory mental image of democracy—it is so difficult to speak of true democracy to the Swiss in particular. In fact, the Swiss understand true democracy the very, very least of all.

[ 3 ] In Switzerland, people are thinking about how to democratize schools. That’s roughly like trying to figure out—based on real, true concepts—a mental image of how to turn a boot into a good head covering. And in a similar way, the state’s so-called democratic concepts are treated here. It’s no use talking about these things—I’d say—in a tiptoeing manner, just to be polite when speaking mainly to Swiss people; because then we wouldn’t be able to understand each other. You can never really understand each other when you’re being polite about such things. Well, that is precisely why it is necessary to discuss the concepts of law and human equality before a population such as the Swiss.

[ 4 ] If one wants to be an active public speaker, one must definitely get into the habit of speaking differently depending on the audience. When, as was the case from April 1919 onward, one spoke of the threefold social order in Germany, one did so under circumstances quite different from those here in Switzerland, for example, and also under circumstances quite different from those under which the threefold social order can be discussed in England or America. Precisely in that spring, in April 1919, immediately after the German Revolution, everyone in Germany—both proletarian and bourgeois circles, the former naturally more revolutionary, the latter resigned—was convinced that something new had to come. And it was actually against this backdrop of the feeling that something new had to come that one spoke. After all, one was speaking at that time to a relatively well-prepared audience, and naturally, one could speak quite differently in Germany back then than one can today. There is, after all, a world of difference between today and the spring of 1919, even in Germany. Today, one can at best hope to evoke in Germany—through something that echoes the threefold order—a mental image of how spiritual life as such can be organized independently, and indeed how it ought to be organized today precisely under conditions such as those prevailing in Germany, and how, under certain conditions, domestic legal life could also be organized. But of course, one cannot speak today in Germany of an organization of economic life that is fully in line with the threefold social order, for economic life in Germany is, in fact, something that is subject to coercive measures, pressure, and so on—something that cannot move freely, that cannot even conceive of its own free mobility. This is particularly striking, for example, in the very different ways of life represented by, let’s say, the *“Futurum”* and the *“Kommende Tag”*. The *“Kommende Tag”* is right in the thick of it, as if it were in a straitjacket, and has the task of working under such conditions; the “Futurum,” as it is developing here in Switzerland, must work precisely within Swiss conditions, about which we will have more to say in a moment. A speech must therefore be structured quite differently depending on whether it is delivered here in Switzerland, in Germany, or at one time or another.

[ 5 ] In England and in America, of course, one would have to speak quite differently. After all, what can be done from here with regard to England and America is, at first, only a kind of substitute; for example, take “The Key Points of the Social Question”: it is good that they are translated, good that they are disseminated everywhere; but, as I have said from the beginning, what would truly be right—what would ultimately be right—is if the “Key Points” were written quite differently for America and also for England than they are for Central Europe and Switzerland. For Central Europe and Switzerland, they can indeed be worded quite literally and sentence-for-sentence as they are, but for England and America they would actually have to be composed quite differently, for there one is speaking to people who, to begin with, have the exact opposite of what existed in Germany, for example, in April 1919. In Germany, the prevailing opinion was that something new had to come, and that one simply had to know, at first, what this new thing was. People did not have the strength to understand it, but they initially had the feeling that they had to know what some reasonable new thing might be. Of course, not even the slightest hint of this sentiment exists throughout the whole of England and America. There is only this feeling: How can we preserve the old, save it? What must be done to ensure that the old remains firmly in place? For the old is, after all, good! The old is beyond question. — I know, of course, that when one says such things, one might be told: Yes, but there are so many progressive movements in the West! — But these progressive movements are all—regardless of whether their content is new—entirely reactionary and conservative in their leadership. So the realization must first be brought about that things cannot continue as they have until now.

[ 6 ] This can certainly be seen in individual issues. Let’s take a dreadful, terrible—I would even say the most terrible—issue that could have arisen from a purely human standpoint: let’s take the issue of starvation in Russia. Within Germany—even if opinions are still chaotic, even if, for the sake of agitation, people act contrary to what would be reasonable, and, for humanitarian reasons, naturally pay homage to compassion—against which, of course, no one should speak out—within Germany, people are finally coming to realize, at least in certain circles, more or less to the conclusion that it is, after all, nonsense for the entire course of human development to do anything—in the form of aid—to alleviate the famine in Russia through donations, so to speak, from the West. People are coming to realize that this is certainly even required from a humanitarian standpoint, but that what is being done in this direction is so self-evident that one should by no means claim it has anything to do with the challenges posed today by the starvation in Russia. In the West, at most a few theorists—but even then only on a theoretical basis—will arrive at such a view. It is therefore natural that one must first awaken a sense in the West that the world needs a transformation.

[ 7 ] Switzerland’s position during the most terrible catastrophe of modern times was such that it actually participated in it only in a theoretical sense—namely, through journalistic theory—and through the external influences that impacted its intellectual and economic conditions. The Swiss population therefore has no real sense—neither that something new must come, nor that the old must remain. When a Swiss person today, depending on one political orientation or another, speaks of the need for something new or for the old to remain, one always has the feeling: He is merely repeating what he has heard—heard from Central Europe on the one hand, and from England and the West on the other. He is merely recounting what has entered his ears, and not what he has actually experienced. And that is why it seems so typically Swiss when those people who do not like to align themselves with the right or the left—and such people are, after all, very common among influential Swiss today—say: “Well, if this happens, then so be it; if the other thing happens, then so be it! If something new comes along, then that’s just how things go; if the old ways remain, then that’s just how things go!” — In a sense, they figure out what else to put on one side or the other of the scales.

[ 8 ] The fact is: When you try to get someone in Switzerland excited about what the world so desperately needs today, you end up feeling desperate, because it doesn’t really move them at all—it just bounces right off them—because, in reality, their heart isn’t really in it. It is too repugnant to them for it to be of any interest, and they have too little experience with these matters for it to appeal to them in any way. They just want to be left in peace. But at the same time, he also wants to be Swiss. That is to say: When all sorts of progressive ideas about “freedom” and “democracy” echo across the border, one cannot—simply because one has consistently called oneself democratic for many centuries—say that one does not want democracy! In short, one really gets the feeling that people in Switzerland have a very well-developed canal between their right and left ears, so that everything that goes in on one side comes right back out the other without ever reaching their minds or hearts.

[ 9 ] Therefore, one will have to attack at least on those points where it can be shown that a political system like Switzerland’s is truly something quite special. And it is something quite special. For, first of all, Switzerland—as was already evident during the war, if one was only willing to see it—is something of a focal point of the world. And it is precisely its lack of involvement in various global affairs that it could use to achieve freedom of judgment and freedom of action in relation to its surroundings. The world is just waiting for the Swiss to realize in their minds what they already realize in their pockets. In their pockets, they realize that the franc has not actually been affected by currency fluctuations or currency devaluation. The Swiss do realize that the entire world revolves around the Swiss franc. But they fail to realize that this is also the case in an intellectual sense. But just as they know how to appreciate the stable franc—which has, in a sense, become the regulator of the world’s currencies—so too should they understand their position, which is truly independent of global conditions and through which Switzerland could in fact serve as a kind of fulcrum for world affairs—this is what the Swiss should understand. Therefore, it is necessary to make this clear to them.

[ 10 ] It’s almost exactly like what once had to be said about Austria in a similar vein. People in Austria who understood these matters often wondered why Austria—which had nothing but centrifugal tendencies—remained intact, why it didn’t break apart. In the 1980s and 1990s, I never said anything other than this: What happens within Austria itself has, at first, no bearing whatsoever on whether the country holds together or breaks apart; it’s only what happens all around it that matters. Because the others—Germany, Russia, Italy, Turkey, and those with an interest in Turkey, France, and even Switzerland itself—because these surrounding states did not allow Austria to disintegrate but held it together from within, because none of them was willing to grant the others even a piece of it! Each made sure that the other got nothing: as a result, Austria remained intact. It was held together from the outside. One could see this very clearly if one had a sense for such circumstances. And only when this mutual scrutiny among the surrounding powers was clouded by the fog of gunfire during the World War—only then did Austria fall apart, of course. The image basically says it all.

[ 11 ] Well, the situation in Switzerland is similar, yet different in its own way. All sorts of interests surround it, but these interests have left a small space where they do not intersect. And today, with global economic life and global intellectual life, the situation is such that this small space is indeed preserved precisely because it is now something quite special. What is it, actually? It is something held together within its borders by purely political conditions. This is evident from Swiss history. Swiss history is seemingly entirely political, just as Swiss thinking is seemingly entirely democratic. But even with regard to politics, the situation in Switzerland is as I explained earlier regarding democracy: it is a politics that is not really politics at all—one that administers spiritual and economic life within a small patch of land, but in reality does not engage in politics at all. Compare what constitutes politics in Switzerland with what it is elsewhere! Sometimes one thing or another has to be done “politically” because one must correspond with other countries. But real Swiss politics—one would have to turn things upside down if one wanted to find real Swiss politics. It doesn’t actually exist. This, too, makes it clear that a national entity has been created here in which intellectual life and economic life are administered in the political sense, but in which there is actually no real sense of, or genuine experience of, legal existence.

[ 12 ] Therefore, the point here is to instill very deeply the understanding that law is something that cannot be defined—just as one cannot define red or blue—that law is something that must be experienced in its autonomy, and that it must be experienced when every person who has come of age becomes conscious of themselves as a human being. The task, then, will be to try to develop—using Swiss means—precisely this human relationship of perception and feeling within legal life, so that equality must be lived within each individual if legal life is to exist. Switzerland, in particular, is called upon to do this—and I would like to say: the angels of the whole world are watching Switzerland to see if the right thing is happening here—Switzerland, in particular, is called upon to do this because, I would say, it is completely untouched when it comes to the rule of law, having only a spiritual and an economic state, and must create a rule-of-law state while allowing spiritual and economic life to flourish.

[ 13 ] In the Swiss mountains, Roman law—which took root in a completely different way in France, Germany, and other European countries—has, in a sense, failed to capture people’s hearts. It has penetrated only the outward form, but not people’s inner feelings. It is, therefore, virgin legal ground on which anything can be created. If only people would truly come to realize what an infinite blessing it is to live here among the mountains and to be able to exercise their own free will, independent of the entire world that revolves around this little country. Here, precisely because of these global circumstances, the elements of law can be developed solely from within the human being.

[ 14 ] So I am suggesting to you how one must incorporate that particular locale, that specific setting, into the preparation for such a lecture—how one must, in fact, be completely at one with oneself regarding the essence of Swissness. Of course, I can only sketch this out here; but anyone who wants to speak in Switzerland should really make an effort to fully understand just how unique this Swiss identity is.

[ 15 ] Isn’t it true that you can say: “We are, after all, Swiss”—just as the English can say: “We are, after all, English”—and now you want to tell us how the Swiss should come to know what it means to be Swiss, and what the English lack in terms of such a sense of identity, and so on. - Certainly, one can say that. But those who are considered educated today have nowhere a truly lived education, nowhere an education that springs from the immediacy of experience. Therefore, especially in relation to the right, great emphasis must be placed on this immediate experience.

[ 16 ] This brings us to the question of how, under modern civilization, people have gradually entered into mutual relationships—social relationships—in the very realm where law should actually develop. Law should develop from person to person. And so everything—the entire process of parliamentarization—is, at its core, merely a substitute for what ought to take place from person to person in a truly just legal system.

[ 17 ] This gives us the opportunity, as we reflect on this area of law, to revisit—but now in a more concrete way—the concepts of the proletariat and the sentiments of the bourgeoisie. But now, in a more realistic way, one can translate the concepts developed by the proletariat into the sensibilities of the bourgeoisie. I say: concepts of the proletariat, sensibilities of the bourgeoisie. You will find the explanation for this in my “Key Points of the Social Question.”

[ 18 ] The proletariat has indeed developed a sense of class consciousness from the four concepts I outlined here yesterday; it must seize what is in the possession of the bourgeoisie—the state. To what extent the state is—or is not—a true constitutional state has, of course, not yet become clear to the proletariat either. But Switzerland is the least affected by what has developed as a constitutional state; therefore, it could most easily grasp a true constitutional state without prejudice. What has developed as a true constitutional state exists today only between the expressions of people’s actual inner lives almost everywhere in the world—just not in Switzerland! Everywhere else in the world, what constitutes the rule of law actually leads, I would say, a clandestine existence, whereas what is truly experienced from person to person is based on something entirely different—namely, something thoroughly bourgeois. What people actually seek in public life, what they bring into public life as a whole—and through which a darkening of the true legal life occurs—can only be grasped by taking a closer look at the concrete relationships.

[ 19 ] You see, intellectual life has gradually been absorbed by political life. But intellectual life, when viewed as an element built upon itself, is a very rigorous element—one against which one must continually preserve one’s freedom, and which therefore must be organized in no other way than in freedom. Let one generation unfold its spiritual life more freely and then organize that spiritual life as it sees fit: it will be the purest form of slavery for the next generation. Spiritual life must truly be free—not merely in theory, but in practice. The people who are part of it must experience that freedom. Intellectual life becomes a great tyranny if it spreads at all on earth, for without the establishment of an organization, it cannot spread, and once an organization is established, that organization immediately becomes a tyrant. Therefore, one must continually struggle in freedom—in living freedom—against the tyranny toward which intellectual life itself tends.

[ 20 ] Over the course of recent centuries, this intellectual life has been absorbed by public life. That is to say: If one strips public life of the toga—which it still wears very heavily in memory of the ancient Roman era, even though even the judges are beginning to lay aside their robes—one can nevertheless say, on the whole, that public life still wears the toga; but if one looks beyond this toga, if one looks at what lies beneath it: then what is actually present everywhere is a constrained spiritual life, which exists within the state and in the social life of the state. It is a constrained intellectual life! Constrained, yet unaware that it is constrained; therefore, it does not strive for freedom, but nonetheless continually struggles against this constraint. And much of what has emerged in recent times has arisen precisely from this struggle against the constraint of intellectual life. Our entire public intellectual life is, in fact, marked by this constraint on intellectual life, and we cannot achieve healthy conditions unless we develop a sense for observing this constraint on intellectual life. One must have a feeling for how this constraint on intellectual life manifests itself in everyday life.

[ 21 ] I was once invited by a group of Berlin ladies—who had attended my lectures at an institute—to give a lecture at one of their private apartments, and the whole event was actually intended to help the ladies counteract a certain, at the time rather good-natured, mood among their husbands. You see, these ladies would arrive at the educational institute—where I gave the lectures—around noon. And the men, whenever such a day came around—I believe it was once a week—would say: “Well, there you go, off to your crazy institution again today; the soup will be bad again, or something else won’t be right!” - And so these ladies wanted me to give a lecture on Goethe’s *Faust*—that was the topic chosen—and the men were invited as well. So I gave a lecture on Goethe’s *Faust* to the ladies and gentlemen. Yes, the gentlemen were a bit taken aback afterward, and they said: “Yes, but Goethe’s *Faust* is simply a science; Goethe’s *Faust* isn’t art. Art is Blumenthal”—I’m quoting verbatim—“you don’t have to make an effort there. If you’re already exerting yourself so much in your professional life, you certainly don’t want to exert yourself in life as well!” You see, what has taken the place of enthusiasm for freedom in intellectual life confronts us in public life as a mere need for light entertainment.

[ 22 ] I once saw in the countryside—where you could still see such things quite clearly—how these old traveling actors, who always had what in Germany was called “Dummer August” (the Bajazzo) with them, would sometimes perform quite exquisite pieces. There I saw how the clown—who had been performing his clowning tricks for quite some time and entertaining the crowd—threw off his clown costume just as he was about to perform something very serious for him, and stood there in black breeches and a black tailcoat. This image always flips around in my mind: First I see the man in black trousers and a black tailcoat, and afterward I see the man in the clown costume. It strikes me as black trousers and a tailcoat whenever I see a book by Einstein on the theory of relativity in a store window somewhere; and then I have the clown before me when I see a book by Moszkowski on the theory of relativity right next to it. For indeed, in outward life, many things are maya: But one could never imagine that, inwardly, all that intellectual pedantry could manifest itself in any way other than in black trousers and a well-tailored tailcoat—that is to say, in the theory of relativity. And again: It’s unpleasant to submit to such rigorous trains of thought, such consistent trains of thought, which are truly tailored like a well-fitting tailcoat; that must also present itself to people in a different light. So Alexander Moszkowski, who is particularly gifted as a philosophical clown in the literary pages, sets to work and writes a thick book. And now, through the arts and culture pages—in a clown’s costume—everyone learns what was born in a tailcoat! You see, these days one simply has no choice but to translate things into a form that requires no effort and no great enthusiasm.

[ 23 ] One must, in fact, fight against this general sentiment intuitively if one wishes to speak of legal concepts, for it is there that human beings, with all their inner values, stand before one another as equals. And what prevents legal concepts from emerging is—yes, I would say—the Alexander Moszkowski approach! One must seek out the concrete in all things.

[ 24 ] Of course, I am by no means saying that when discussing legal concepts, one must necessarily talk about tailcoats and clown costumes, but I would like to show how one must make the concepts for these things flexible, how one must actually be pointing to one thing when pointing to the other; and also how one must be able to prepare—first within oneself—in order to then have the necessary fluency to speak before an audience.

[ 25 ] And there is yet another reason why today’s speaker must know such things. After all, when he has to speak on a topic worthy of the future, he is usually confined to speaking in the evening. This means he has to fill the time when people would actually prefer to be in a concert hall or a theater. He must therefore be fully aware that he is speaking to an audience that, given the time of day, would be better off in a concert hall or a theater—or somewhere else entirely—but is not really where it should be: down there, listening while a speaker up above discusses matters of lasting significance. One must be clear about what one is actually doing, right down to the finest details.

[ 26 ] What does one actually do when speaking to such an audience—the kind one is usually condemned to address these days? After all, one literally turns this audience’s stomach! A serious speech, you see, has the peculiarity of being hostile to pepsin—it prevents pepsin, the gastric juice, from taking effect. A serious speech makes the stomach sour. And only if you yourself are in the right frame of mind to deliver a serious speech—so that, at least inwardly, you deliver it with the necessary humor—can you help the gastric juices again. One must deliver a speech with a certain inner lightness, with a certain modulation, with a certain enthusiasm—only then does one help the gastric juices. And in doing so, one compensates for the strain one places on the stomach during the times when we are most often called upon to speak today. That is why, when people speak to others about the threefold social order with great solemnity, straining every inner muscle, and in a pedantic manner, they are actually working more for the gastroenterologists than for the threefold social order itself. This must be done with ease and naturalness; otherwise, one is not working for the threefold social order, but for the gastroenterologists. There are simply no statistics yet on how many people, after listening to pedantic lectures, end up having to go to the gastroenterologists! If one were to have statistics on these matters, one would indeed be astonished at what percentage of the gastroenterologists’ patient population consists of avid listeners to today’s lectures.

[ 27 ] I must draw attention to these things as well, for the time is approaching when one must understand how human beings actually live: how seriousness affects the stomach, how humor affects gastric juices, how, for example, let’s say, wine is a kind of cynic that does not take the entire human organism seriously, but plays with it. And so, if one were to approach the human organism not with the vague, vague concepts of modern science but with human concepts, one could certainly understand what kind of organic effect—almost a chemical effect—every word and every context of words elicits in human beings.

[ 28 ] Knowing such things also makes it easier to speak. Whereas one would otherwise face a wall when addressing an audience, that wall ceases to exist when, during a pedantic speech, one can, as it were, see right through it—how the gastric juices drip and eventually turn sour in the stomach, corroding the stomach walls. One does have the opportunity to see this from time to time. Less so in university lecture halls, of course; there, the students cope by simply not listening.

[ 29 ] But you can see from what I’m saying just how much speaking depends on the mood, and how much more important it is to prepare the mood—to take control of the mood—than to prepare the exact wording. Anyone who has often prepared for the mood no longer needs to prepare for the literal content in such a way that, at the crucial moment, their overly thorough literal preparation actually turns them into a spoilsport.

[ 30 ] You see, a—if I may put it this way—properly trained speaker must possess various qualities; and I would like to bring this up at this very point, because the analysis of legal concepts demands precisely many of the qualities that must be characterized in this regard. I would like to bring this up right now, before I turn—probably tomorrow—to the interweaving of economic elements into the speech.

[ 31 ] An anthroposophist once brought Max Dessoir—whom you may already be familiar with—to the Architektenhaussaal in Berlin on an evening when I was scheduled to give a lecture there. This friend of Max Dessoir’s at the time said afterward: “Oh, Dessoir didn’t come along after all!” I asked him how he’d liked the lecture, and he replied: “Well, you know, I’m a speaker myself; and someone who is a speaker can’t really listen—he has no judgment about what the other person is saying!” — Well, I had no need to form an opinion about Dessoir based on that statement, for I had other opportunities to do so; nor would I have formed an opinion based on that statement anyway: for I had no way of knowing whether it was actually true, or whether Dessoir, as usual, had lied this time as well. But now, let’s suppose it were true: What would that prove? That, in any case, anyone who holds such a view can never become a true orator. For no one who enjoys speaking, who likes to hear himself speak, and who places particular importance on his own speech can ever become a true orator. A true orator must, in fact, always overcome a certain resistance when he is to speak, and he must clearly feel this resistance. Above all, he must prefer to listen to even the worst of other orators rather than speak himself.

[ 32 ] I know exactly what I mean by this, and I know very well how difficult it is for some of you to believe this—especially coming from me—but it is true. I do admit that there are other pleasures in the world besides listening to bad speakers. But speaking oneself certainly must not be counted among these other, greater pleasures. One must even have a certain urge to listen to others. One must enjoy listening to others, for it is through listening that one actually becomes a speaker, not through a love of one’s own speech. Speaking oneself gives one a certain fluency; but that must come instinctively. What makes one a speaker is actually listening—developing an ear for the particular idiosyncrasies of other speakers, even if they are poor speakers. Therefore, to anyone who asks me how best to prepare to become a good speaker in a certain sense, I will answer: Listen, but above all, read—I have explained the difference between listening and reading—listen and read; after all, one can do both, for there is the absurdity that speeches are printed—the speeches of others! Only in this way will one develop that strong sense of aversion to one’s own speaking. And it is actually this aversion to one’s own speaking that enables one to speak truly and appropriately. This is extraordinarily important. And for people who simply cannot bring themselves to view their own speech with antipathy, it is good if they at least retain their stage fright; for to stand up and speak without stage fright and with sympathy for one’s own speech is actually something one should refrain from, because it never looks good in the world under any circumstances. It leads to the sclerosis of speech, to its ossification, to its encapsulation—and is thus precisely one of the things that spoils the sermon for people.

[ 33 ] You see, I would truly not be speaking to you about public speaking in the spirit of this course if I were to list rules of speech here based on some ancient rhetoric or on imitations of ancient rhetorical speeches; rather, drawing on my own extensive experience, I want to impress upon you what one should always keep in mind when seeking to influence others through speech.

[ 34 ] Certainly, things change to some extent when one is forced into a dialogue—that is, when, I would say, a certain legal relationship arises between people in a discussion. But in the discussion—where one could best learn about this legal relationship—this projection of general legal concepts into the relationship that exists between people in the discussion, in their verbal exchange, and in their statements, is hardly evident at all today. What really matters here is that, during the discussion, one is not enamored with one’s own way of thinking or one’s own way of feeling, but rather that one actually feels aversion toward what one oneself wishes to say about something and brings up. This becomes possible when one knows how to rein in one’s own opinion—as well as one’s own anger or agitation—and can put oneself in the other person’s shoes. This approach proves fruitful even in a debate where something must be refuted. Of course, one cannot say exactly what the other person says, but one can take from the other person precisely what is needed for an effective debate.

[ 35 ] The following is a particularly striking example. It is recounted in the latest issue of *Dreigliederung*; I experienced it more than twenty years ago. Member of Parliament Rickert delivered a speech in the German Reichstag in which he accused Bismarck of changing the course of his policies. He pointed out how Bismarck had aligned himself with the Liberals for a time, only to turn toward the Conservatives afterward, and delivered a very effective speech, which he summed up with the image that Bismarck’s politics amounted to “turning one’s coat with the wind.” Well, you can imagine how using such a metaphor affects the audience’s inner feelings—especially in a “chatterhouse” (the German term isn’t ideal when you need it, but for “parliament,” the correct German translation is indeed “chatterhouse”)—when such a metaphor is employed. But Bismarck stood up and set out to counter Representative Rickert’s arguments—at first with a certain air of superiority—and then he began to ingratiate himself with Representative Rickert, as he always did in such cases, and said: “Representative Rickert has accused me of shifting my stance with the wind. But politics is like sailing the seas. I’d like to know how one is actually supposed to steer properly if one doesn’t want to turn with the wind! A true sailor, like a true politician, must naturally steer according to the wind—unless, of course, he wants to make his own wind!

[ 36 ] As you can see: The image has been taken up and turned around in such a way that it now actually deflects the arrow back at the archer. The point of the debate is to take up the issues, to draw them out of the speaker himself. When it comes to a simpler image, the matter is, of course, easy to understand. But one can also do this in a completely serious manner: by seeking out in the opponent what, from within the opponent himself, undermines his own argument! As a rule, it won’t do much good to simply pit one’s own reasons against those of the opponent.

[ 37 ] During the debate, one should actually be able to adopt the following mindset: At the very moment the debate is about to begin, one should actually be able to shut out everything one has known up to that point, push it all down into the unconscious, and know only what the speaker—to whom one must respond—has just said, and then honestly exercise one’s ability to put what the speaker has said into perspective. Let your talent for setting the record straight take hold! The point of a debate is to immediately take in what the speaker is saying, rather than simply countering it with what you’ve known for a long time. If you simply counter with what you’ve known for a long time—as happens in most debates—then the debate actually ends up being fruitless, truly fruitless. You can never really refute anyone in a discussion. You just have to be aware that you can never refute anyone in a debate; rather, you can only show that a speaker is contradicting either themselves or reality. One can only respond to what they have said. And this, especially when developed as a principle, will be of extraordinary importance for debates and discussions. If someone in a debate only wants to say what they already knew, then it will certainly be of no significance whatsoever that they bring it up after the speaker has spoken.

[ 38 ] This once became particularly clear to me—I would say—in a very instructive way. On my last trip to the Netherlands, I was invited to give a lecture on anthroposophy at the Philosophical Society of the University of Amsterdam. Naturally, the chairman himself held a different opinion than I did. There was no doubt at all that when he intervened in the debate, he would say something quite different from what I said. But it was equally clear that, in the end, what he said would have no bearing on my talk, and that my talk would likewise have no particular influence on what he would say—based on what he already knew anyway. That is why I thought he handled it quite wisely: he presented what he had to say first—not later in the debate, but beforehand! He could also have presented what he later added to his earlier remarks during the debate right at the beginning; it would not have changed the matter in the least.

[ 39 ] One must simply not harbor any illusions about such things. Above all, it is essential that a speaker, in particular, immerse himself very, very deeply in human circumstances. But if one wants these things to have an effect, one must not harbor any illusions about human relationships. Above all—and I would like to say this to you today, because it will serve as a foundation for the upcoming lectures—above all, one must not harbor any illusions that speeches actually have an effect.

[ 40 ] I always find myself getting terribly amused inside when well-meaning people say over and over again: “It’s not words that matter, it’s actions!” I have heard this declaimed time and again in the most inappropriate contexts—both in conversations and from various podiums: “It’s not words that matter; it’s deeds!”—But when it comes to the deeds that take place in the world, everything depends on words! For those who see through the matter, no deed ever takes place that hasn’t first been prepared by someone’s words.

[ 41 ] But you will understand that the preparation is quite a subtle matter. For if it is true—and it is true—that by speaking in a pedantically theoretical, in principle, one actually spoils people’s gastric juices, and these gastric juices then infect the rest of the organism—then you can imagine how the actions out there, which depend very heavily on the gastric juices, are affected when they spill over into the rest of the organism as they are dispersed—how the actions out there are the consequences of such bad speech. And how, on the other hand, when people act solely as jokers, gastric juice is constantly produced, which then actually acts like vinegar, and vinegar is a terrible hypochondriac. But people continue to be entertained because what flows into the public sphere today is a constant stream of joking. Yesterday’s entertainment hasn’t even been digested yet when today’s entertainment appears. Then yesterday’s gastric juice goes awry and turns into something vinegary. People are, of course, already being entertained again today. They can be quite funny. But the way they present themselves in public life, it is actually the hypochondriac vinegar that is at work there. And this hypochondriac vinegar—you can certainly find it!

[ 42 ] Yes, in the taverns it is the Marxist speakers who upset people’s stomachs, and when people then read the *Vorwärts*, that is what is needed to set their upset stomachs right again. That is indeed a very real process.

[ 43 ] One must understand how the world of words relates to the world of deeds. The most untrue statement—because it stems from false sentimentality, and everything that comes from false sentimentality is, in fact, untrue—the most untrue statement regarding speech is this: “Enough words have been exchanged; let me finally see some action!” This may certainly appear in a particular scene of a play, and where it appears, it is entirely appropriate. But when it is torn out of context and presented as a general dictum, it may be correct, but it is certainly not good. And we must learn to speak not merely beautifully, not merely correctly, but also well; otherwise, we will lead people into the abyss, and in any case, we will be unable to discuss anything worthy of the future with them.

[ 44 ] So, tomorrow at three o'clock.