The Rudolf Steiner Archive

First Lecture

[ 1 ] My dear friends! You have requested that we gather here to discuss matters closely related to your profession, and I may assume that this request arose from your recognition of the gravity of our current situation—a gravity that becomes particularly evident when one attempts to influence the civilizational life of our time from a religious perspective. And I may further assume that you are primarily concerned not with what one might call a theological matter, but with a matter of religion. After all, the truly pressing question of our time is undoubtedly not the theological one alone. One might think that, even with some good will, certain people could come to a clear understanding of the theological question in a relatively short time. But what must be clear to anyone who looks impartially at our time is precisely not the question of dogma, not the question of theology; it is the question of preaching and everything connected with it; it is the question of the religious and, in particular, of religious activity as such. But in doing so, we are pointing to a much broader and more comprehensive question than the theological one could ever be.

[ 2 ] If one adopts a religious standpoint from the outset, the point is, of course, to rediscover the possibility of making the spiritual worlds—with their various active forces—accessible to human beings; accessible, to begin with—if we limit ourselves to the religious sphere—through the word. And here we must be clear that the entire recent development in this regard presents us with a question of the utmost gravity. Anyone who believes that, from the starting point still adopted today by the older generation among us, anything other than the complete disintegration of religious life within our modern civilization could result is not actually overlooking the issue. Anyone who believes that religious life can still be saved on the basis of the old premises is actually taking an untenable position. I say this by way of introduction not because I wish to start from some kind of spiritual-scientific dogma from the outset—that is not the case—but because what I am saying simply follows from an unbiased observation of life in our time.

[ 3 ] We need to be clear about whether today’s sermon can resonate in the hearts of our contemporaries when we speak of those things that must eventually be addressed within true Christianity. And I assume that these days here will unfold in such a way that we will engage in questions, answers, and discussions about the matters that are truly close to your hearts; but today, by way of introduction, I would like to touch on some of what is actually at hand.

[ 4 ] We must be clear that what has emerged among humankind over the past three to four centuries as scientific education has already drawn a wide circle around itself. Those who are older can still perceive the difference in this regard between what existed in, say, the 1870s or 1880s and what surrounds us today. In the 1870s and 1880s, it was still possible to speak to a large segment of the population about questions of spiritual life as they arose from the traditions of various denominations and sects, and one could find hearts and souls in which such discourse found an echo. Today, we are essentially facing a different era. Certainly, there are still many people who have not absorbed much of what has found its way into our civilization in the form of modern education; and we could still speak to these people about concepts such as Christ, the workings of grace, redemption, and so on, without immediately encountering resistance in their hearts. But even this will not last much longer. For a certain popular view of education is spreading at a breakneck pace, penetrating the broadest masses primarily through newspapers and popular magazines, and, in essence, also through our school system. And even if this view of education does not directly foster ideas that rebel against concepts such as Christ, redemption, grace, and so on, we must not forget that these ideas, which are being absorbed, are cast in forms that, in the widest circles, simply give rise to an inner resistance against religious life itself—unless a new starting point is sought for it. We should not allow ourselves to be deluded in this regard at all.

[ 5 ] You see, if that view of education continues to spread further and further—one that, based on seemingly established scientific premises, describes the universe in such a way that it began in a certain mechanical manner, that organic life developed out of mechanical entanglements, and then, for my sake, the external, physical, and corporeal aspects of the human being also developed— and if the facts that led to such hypotheses are then examined—so that one forms ideas based on them about a corresponding end of the Earth or of our planetary system—then, for all those who seriously and honestly embrace these ideas, religious concepts, particularly those of Christianity, will no longer have any chance of flourishing.

[ 6 ] The fact that this is not already recognized to a relatively high degree today stems solely from the fact that there is just as little inner honesty in people. They simply allow the mechanical-physical order of nature on the one hand and Christianity on the other to coexist, and even attempt to prove theoretically that the two can go hand in hand. However, this merely obscures what naturally asserts itself in every open-minded soul. And even if the intellect seeks every possible harmony between Christianity and modern natural science, the heart will erase all these attempts at reconciliation, and the result can only be that there will be less and less room for religion in the hearts and minds of our fellow human beings.

[ 7 ] If one does not consider the question from these deeper perspectives, one does not truly appreciate the gravity of the situation in which we currently find ourselves. For the difficulties alluded to are not encountered merely in theology, but most of all precisely where they are not clearly articulated, where they remain hidden in the subconscious of our fellow human beings; one encounters them precisely when one seeks to practice religion rather than theology. And that is the crucial point that must be understood above all else.

[ 8 ] You see, what is particularly characteristic of recent developments in this field is, of course, the Ritschlian school with all its offshoots. This Ritschlian school—as you are no doubt aware—is still regarded today by many who are active in the field of religion as something extraordinarily significant. But what, exactly, is this Ritschlian school? Isn’t it true that this Ritschlian school takes the position that the past few centuries—especially the 19th century—have brought us a vast body of scientific knowledge? These scientific insights are dangerous to religious life. — On this point, the Ritschlian School is clear: if we allow scientific insights—whether for the purpose of criticism or the formation of dogma—to enter religious life, then religious life will be undermined as a result. We must therefore seek a different starting point for religious life: the starting point of faith.

[ 9 ] Well then, in a sense, we would have split the soul in two. On the one hand, we would have the soul’s theoretical cognitive faculties, which are concerned with science, and on the other, we would have established a realm of the soul that develops capabilities entirely different from those of the cognitive realm: the realm of faith. And now the battle is being waged—not at all for harmony between science and religion, but rather to exclude science from religion; the battle is for a realm in which the soul can move without allowing scientific thought to enter in any way. To allow as little as possible—if possible, nothing at all—of any scientific findings to influence religious life: that is the ideal of the Ritschlians.

[ 10 ] But now: Setting aside the fact that one can theoretically establish such a thing, that one can even convince oneself that something like this dichotomy of the soul might exist, the fact remains that, in the actual life of the soul, so many rebellious forces rise up from the subconscious against this dichotomy of the soul that religious life itself is thereby undermined. But one could even disregard that. One need only consider the positive aspects of Ritschlianism itself to see how this view must ultimately lose all meaning for religious sentiment.

[ 11 ] Let us consider the most important forces at work in religious life. First is the realm of faith—whether or not this leads to knowledge is a topic we will discuss later— second, there is the realm of actual religious experience—we will also examine this realm of religious experience in somewhat greater detail later—and third, there is the realm of religious authority. Now, when it comes to the concept of authority, Protestant life has, one might say, done an extraordinary amount since Luther to clarify, explore, and so on. And in the struggle against the Catholic Church, Protestantism has, one might say, developed a clear sense of the concept of authority. It is well understood within Protestantism that one should not speak of an external authority in religion, that only Jesus Christ himself is to be regarded as the authority for individual souls. But as soon as one approaches the content of religious life—that is, the second point—from the perspective of the Ritschlian school, an immense difficulty immediately arises, one which, as you know, has posed a very, very significant challenge to all the more recent Ritschlians. Ritschl himself does not want a nebulous, obscure, mystical experience of faith; rather, Ritschl wants to make the content of the Gospels the spiritual substance of religious life. The religious person should be able to experience the content of the Gospel—in other words, one should also be able to use the content of the Gospel in preaching. — But this immediately placed the newer Ritschlians in a difficult position. Take, for example, the Epistles of Paul: The Epistles of Paul naturally contain a wealth of Paul’s own religious experience—an experience that, from a certain point of view, is entirely subjective and is not simply a universally human religious experience to which one can only respond by saying: Paul had this experience; he incorporated it into his letters; and one can really only relate to it by saying to oneself: I look to Paul; I try to immerse myself in what his religious experience is, and I develop a relationship to it. — But that is precisely what the newer Ritschlians wish to rule out. They say: That which is a subjective religious experience of this kind cannot actually be part of the content of the general Protestant faith, for it leads to simply acknowledging an external authority—albeit a historical one—whereas one should appeal to that which can be experienced in every individual human soul. As a result, the Pauline epistles would already be excluded from the content of the Gospel. For example, one would not be able to readily incorporate the Pauline epistles into the content of a general sermon.

[ 12 ] Now, if you look at the matter impartially, you will hardly doubt that what the Ritschlian school today presents—I might say—as the remnant that is to remain as objective experiences can, upon impartial consideration, be regarded as nothing more than a subjective experience. It is said, for example, that the account of the life of Jesus Christ, as narrated in the Gospels, can in essence be relived by anyone, but not, for example, the doctrine of vicarious atonement for sin. One must therefore include in general preaching that which relates to the experiences of Jesus Christ, but not such things as the doctrine of vicarious atonement for sin and other related matters. But upon impartial consideration, you will hardly be able to admit that there is such a core of general experience regarding Jesus Christ to which one could appeal in entirely general preaching. In the end, if they are only impartial enough, the Ritschlians will find themselves compelled to let go of one element after another, until ultimately, in essence, hardly anything remains of the content of the Gospel.

[ 13 ] But if the content of the Gospel is entirely omitted as the content of the sermon, as the content of religious instruction in general, then we are left with absolutely nothing in the way of concrete content that can be developed; then all that remains is what one might call the general—and as such it always becomes nebulous—the general, nebulous-mystical experience of God. And indeed, this is something we encounter more and more in certain people of recent times, who nevertheless believe they can still be good Christians. We are increasingly confronted with the fact that any content that leads to concrete form—even though it is drawn from the depths of the whole human being, it must still lead to a certain formulation—that any such content is rejected and attention is focused instead on a specific emotional orientation, an emotional orientation toward a general divinity, so that, in fact, in many cases, it is precisely the sincere religious-Christian striving that is today on the path toward such a vague emotional content.

[ 14 ] Well, you see, this means that Protestantism has now reached an extraordinarily significant turning point—and indeed the very turning point at which the greatest danger looms that the Protestant principle could find itself in an extremely dire situation vis-à-vis the Catholic principle. For, you see, the Catholic principle has never placed an extraordinary emphasis on the content of the Gospels; the Catholic principle has always, even in preaching, worked with symbolism. And among those Catholic preachers who are truly up to the task, you will notice to this very day—indeed, one might say, especially today, when Catholicism is truly striving for a renewal—how strongly symbolism is reviving once again, how, in a sense, dogmatic content, certain teachings about the facts and realities of the supersensible life, are clothed in symbols. And even among the relatively lower-ranking clergy, there is a full awareness that the symbol penetrates extraordinarily deeply into the soul—much deeper than dogmatic content or doctrinal content— and that one can contribute far more to the spread of religious life precisely by expressing the truths of salvation in symbolic form, by giving the symbols a thoroughly figurative character, and by not delving into the actual doctrinal content. You know, of course, that the content of the Gospel itself is merely the subject of a lecture within the Mass in the Catholic Church, and that the sermon in the Catholic Church specifically avoids presenting the content of the Gospel to the faithful as a subject of doctrine.

[ 15 ] Anyone who can appreciate the power inherent in a renewal of the symbolic content of preaching will understand that we are indeed standing at this important turning point today, and that the main achievements of Protestant life over the past centuries could very, very easily find themselves in a predicament—an extraordinarily difficult situation—in the face of the spreading forces of Catholicism.

[ 16 ] Well, when one sees, on the one hand, how the Protestant life itself is losing its connection to the content of the Gospel, and, on the other hand, how what remains as its content is a nebulous mysticism, then one might well say: The power of faith itself actually stands on very shaky ground. And one must also be clear about the fact that the power of faith stands on very shaky ground today. Furthermore, one really cannot avoid having to admit: No matter how many barriers one erects around the realm of faith—barriers one constructs in whatever way—no matter how many barriers one erects against the intrusion of scientific findings, these scientific findings will ultimately tear down those barriers; but what will then emerge from them is only an irreligious life, not a religious one. What the newer way of thinking in science can achieve—insofar as it is officially represented today—is this: You may not accept it at first, but if you study the matter historically, you will have to recognize that ultimately there would be debates such as those in David Friedrich Strauss’s Old and New Faith. Admittedly, the book is banal and superficial; but only such banality and superficiality emerge when one takes the scientific mindset prevalent today and attempts to derive any kind of religious content from it.

[ 17 ] I have already indicated earlier that we absolutely need concepts such as Christ, the workings of grace, redemption, and so on in the realm of religious life. But how could the unique effect of the Mystery of Golgotha be possible in a world that has developed in the way modern science views its evolution? How can one place a unique Christ within such a world?

[ 18 ] One can hold up an outstanding person as an example; but you will always find, when attempting to describe the life of this outstanding person, that one can no longer be honest if one does not wish to evade the question: How does the life of this most exceptional person differ from that of Plato, Socrates, or any other exceptional person? One can no longer come to terms with this question. If one is unable to perceive any other driving forces in the development of humanity on Earth than those that science today—if it is honest—can accept, then one is also unable to place the Mystery of Golgotha within history in any way. We have, after all, experienced Ranke’s significant “Ignorabimus” regarding the Christ question, and it seems to me that Ranke’s “Ignorabimus” should play a much more significant role for us here than all the attempts by Ritschlians or others to carve out a special domain as a religious domain in which Christ can then be accepted—precisely because barriers are erected against scientific life.

[ 19 ] You see, in these introductory remarks I would like to tackle the fundamental question head-on; I want to prompt you to reflect on this: How is it possible, in a world that operates according to the laws that the natural scientist must accept today—how is it possible, in such a world, to speak of ethical impulses being realized in any way? Where, then, would ethical impulses come into play if we have universal natural causality? — At most, one can still assume that in a world of mechanical natural causality, an ethical force intervened at the very beginning and, so to speak, set the basic mechanical direction that now continues automatically; but if we are honest, we cannot conceive of this natural mechanism being permeated by any ethical impulses.

[ 20 ] And so, even if we accept the universal natural mechanism and universal natural causality, we cannot imagine that our own ethical impulses trigger anything in the world of natural causality. People today are simply not honest enough; otherwise, they would admit to themselves: If we accept general natural causality, then our ethical impulses are merely beautiful human impulses—but these beautiful human impulses remain nothing more than illusions. — We can say that ethical ideals live within us; we can even say that these ethical ideals are illuminated by the radiance of a divinity we revere and worship—but to attribute a positive reality to this divine being, and indeed to assert any connection whatsoever between our prayer and the divine and its impulses of will, remains an illusion.

[ 21 ] Certainly, we must acknowledge the diligence and good will that have been expended from a wide variety of quarters, on the one hand to maintain the position of natural causality, and on the other hand to carve out a special domain for religious life. This must be acknowledged. But there is nevertheless an inherent dishonesty in this; it is not possible, with inner honesty, to accept this dichotomy.

[ 22 ] Now, as our discussions proceed, we will likely not need to concern ourselves too much with the specific findings of research in the humanities; we will, so to speak, derive the substance for religious questions from what is purely human. But I would like to draw your attention—precisely to highlight this key point—to the fact that spiritual science, which does indeed present positive, real findings that are just as valid as those of the natural sciences, is not in a position to base itself on the principle of general natural causality. Let us be clear on this point, my dear friends.

[ 23 ] You see, the ultimate insight that the study of nature has given us is the law of the conservation of matter and the conservation of energy in the universe. You know that this law of the conservation of energy has had a devastating impact on modern psychology. One cannot come to terms with the life of the soul and its freedom if one takes this law of the conservation of matter and the conservation of energy seriously. And the foundations that modern science provides us for understanding human beings are such that we have no choice but to apply this law of the conservation of matter and the conservation of energy—apparently with effect—to the whole human being.

[ 24 ] Now you know that spiritual science—not as a dogmatic prejudice, but as a result [of spiritual research]—has come to the realization of repeated earthly lives. In light of this insight, we live, for example, in this present life between birth and death in such a way that, on the one hand, we carry within us the impulses of physical heredity—we will return to these impulses of physical heredity in greater detail later—and, on the other hand, we also carry within us the impulses that belong to our previous lifetimes and to the life between death and a new birth. The world in which we live between death and a new birth now encompasses facts that are not subject to the laws of the conservation of matter and the conservation of energy. So when we seek, as it were, the spiritual connection between our present life and our next earthly life, and further still into the lives that no longer unfold physically but, after the end of earthly existence, unfold spiritually—when we draw this line of connection—we encounter aspects of the world that are not subject to our natural laws, and consequently cannot be conceived as being subject to the laws of conservation of matter and conservation of energy. What, then, is the connection between what carries over from an earlier earthly life into a later one, and what a person then acts out in their deeds under the influence of earlier earthly lives? This connection is such that it cannot be grasped by the laws of nature, even if they extend into the innermost structure of human physicality.

[ 25 ] Every influence exerted in my present earthly life by what was already predisposed within me during my earlier earthly lives—every such influence is such that its regularity has nothing to do with the universal laws of nature. This means that if we have ethical impulses in our present earthly life, we can safely say: Ultimately, these ethical impulses cannot be fully realized in the physical realm, but they have the potential to carry over from this earthly life into the next, for in between we pass through a sphere that is exempt from the laws of nature.

[ 26 ] In doing so, we arrive at a concept of the miracle—albeit a transformed one—that is nonetheless worthy of epistemological consideration. The concept of the miracle regains its meaning. After all, the concept of the miracle can only mean that it is not merely the laws of nature that are at work in something, but ethical impulses. But when we are completely entangled in the natural context, our ethical impulses do not flow into the natural order. If, however, we are lifted out [of this natural context]—if, so to speak, we insert time between cause and effect—then the concept of the miracle once again acquires a content that is fully in line with epistemological principles; indeed, it acquires a content in an even deeper sense.

[ 27 ] If we look at the origin of the Earth from a spiritual-scientific perspective, we do not see the forces at work in that origin that are active today within the universal context of nature; rather, we see the laws of nature suspended during the transition from the Earth’s preceding metamorphosis to its present metamorphosis. And when we turn to the end of the Earth—when, so to speak, Clausius’s formula is fulfilled and entropy has risen to such an extent that it has reached its maximum, that is, when the heat death of the Earth has occurred—then the same thing happens: We see how, both at the beginning and at the end of the Earth, natural causality is suspended and a different mode of action is at work. Thus, it is precisely during such periods of suspension—such as those that lie for us humans between death and a new birth, and such as those that lie for the Earth itself before and after its current metamorphosis—that we see the possibility of intervention by that which is today simply repelled by natural causality: the possibility of intervention by ethical impulses.

[ 28 ] You see, humanity has—I would say—already taken one of the two necessary steps. That step is that all rational people, including religious people, have abandoned the old, superstitious concept of magic—the concept that presupposes the possibility of intervening in the workings of nature through this or that manipulation. In place of such a concept of magic, the view has now taken hold that one must simply let natural processes run their course, that one cannot master natural causality with spiritual forces. Natural causality follows its own course; we have no influence over it, so they say; therefore, magic in the old superstitious sense must be excluded from our fields of knowledge.

[ 29 ] But, as true as this may be for certain periods of time, it is just as untrue when we look at longer periods. When we look at the period that lies for us humans between death and a new birth, we are simply passing through a realm that, prior to spiritual scientific insight, appears as follows: Imagine that we die at the end of our present life; we then first step out of the world in which we have perceived universal natural causality through our senses and our intellect. This universal natural causality continues to prevail on Earth, which we have then left behind through death, and at first after death, when we look down from the life beyond onto this life here, we can observe nothing other than that effects arise from the causes that were at work during our life; from these effects, which then become causes in turn, further effects arise. We see this natural causality continuing and persisting after our death.

[ 30 ] If we have led a reasonably normal spiritual life, then this life continues after death until all the impulses that were active during our earthly life have come to an end within earthly activity itself and a new spiritual impulse takes place—that is, until the last causal forces cease and a new impulse arises. Only then do we incarnate again, when the spiritual brings about a new impetus, so that the flow of earlier causalities ceases. We descend into a new life, not by encountering the effects of the old causes from our previous life—we do not find those then—but rather we find a new phase of the rhythm, a new impetus. Here, we have, so to speak, lived spiritually beyond a turning point in the rhythmic development. In the next life, we cannot say that the causes already present in the previous life are now taking effect; rather, they have reached a juncture in our human life where they have all been exhausted—though not yet the effects of the animal, plant, and mineral kingdoms, which will only be exhausted at the end of the Earth’s history. But as for everything that concerns us humans in terms of ethical life, a new beginning is necessary. And we draw the impulses for this new beginning from the spiritual life we experience between death and a new birth, so that we can connect with those impulses that shape the Earth from the ethical-divine realm. We can connect with them when we ourselves are in the world from which the new impulse then flows. So we must say: If we now look at our life between birth and death, the superstitious-magical element is certainly not present; but as we transition to the next life, the connection unfolds in such a way that one can truly speak of magic there—though it is impossible to speak of a direct influence of the spiritual upon the physical. This is the crucial point that spiritual science reveals: that there is not simply a continuous stream of causality from beginning to end, but rather that rhythms of causality run through certain periods of time—which, in relation to the Earth’s entire evolution, are not even terribly long—; these reach a zero point, and then a new rhythm of causality begins. When we enter the next causal rhythm, we do not find the effects of the previous one; on the contrary, we must first carry them over into our own soul in the aftereffects that we must carry forward through karma.

[ 31 ] You see, I just wanted to suggest to you that spiritual science actually has no need to adopt anything from those who today seek to revitalize religion—for many, that would mean embracing a new form of dogmatism—; I just wanted to suggest that spiritual science is capable of giving the science of the external world—without detracting from the seemingly necessary validity of the laws of nature—a configuration such that the human being fits into it once again, and fits in such a way that he can truly call his ethical impulses “world impulses” once more, so that he is not pushed back with his ethical impulses into a mere, powerless faith. At the very least, one must take this into account as a possibility, for without carrying this possibility within one’s own consciousness, one will not be understood by those to whom one is meant to preach.

[ 32 ] I’d also like to share something with you that I’ve often shared with Waldorf school teachers—something that forms an important pedagogical principle. You see, if you want to teach children that something is true, you must not assume that the child will accept this truth if you yourself do not believe in it, if you yourself are not convinced of it. I usually give the example that you can teach younger children about the immortality of the soul quite effectively by using a symbol. You tell the child about the butterfly emerging from the chrysalis and draw the comparison by saying: Just as the butterfly lives inside the chrysalis, so does our soul live within us—only we cannot see it; it flies away when death occurs. — Now, two things are possible when one wants to give such instruction. First, one might imagine: “I am a terribly clever fellow who certainly does not believe that this comparison says anything about immortality, but I need it for the child, who is stupid—that’s how you teach it to them.” — If one is open-minded, one will soon realize that this condescension toward the child’s understanding cannot lead to fruitful teaching. What one does not hold as a conviction within oneself will ultimately fail to convince the child as well. Such is the nature of the imponderables. Only when I myself can believe that my symbol corresponds to a reality in every single word will my teaching be fruitful for the child. And, of course, spiritual science provides ample reason for this, for in the light of spiritual science, the butterfly emerging from the chrysalis is not merely an imagined symbol; rather, it is indeed the case that what appears on a lower level is the same as what appears on a higher level as immortality. It is ordained by the world powers themselves that what is the soul’s transition into immortality appears symbolically in the emerging butterfly.

[ 33 ] So, if one regards the image as a reality, then the teaching is fruitful; but not if one imagines oneself to be a clever fellow who shapes the image, but rather if one knows that the world itself provides the image. This is how the intangible forces between the teacher’s soul and the child’s soul work; and this is also true in religious instruction and in preaching. One must possess within one’s own soul the comprehensive foundations for what one assumes will be understood by those to whom one speaks. Indeed, one must not even hold any concepts that contradict this matter. Let me put it this way: Suppose you are a person in the sense of today’s Ritschlians or the like, who is thoroughly devout regarding the immortality of the soul, the existence of God, and so on, but at the same time you are weak enough to accept the Kant-Laplacean theory—specifically, as it is taught by modern natural science. The very fact that this Kant-Laplacean theory resides in your mind and constitutes an objective contradiction to what you are called upon to uphold as the content of your Christian confession—that alone undermines the persuasive power you must possess as a preacher. Even if you are completely unaware that a contradiction exists, the contradiction still takes effect; that is to say, anyone who wishes to preach must possess within themselves all the elements that make their worldview free of contradiction. Certainly, theology will not be of much use to us in preaching; but we must possess it within ourselves as a consistent whole—not as something that exists alongside external scholarship, but as something that encompasses external scholarship, that is, something that can relate to it with understanding.

[ 34 ] We can look at the matter from another angle. You see, in philosophy and science today, people talk about all sorts of relationships between human beings and the world around them; but the things being discussed there are actually rarely found among the people—even among the urban population—who are listening to us today as simple, primitive, uneducated individuals. The relationships that our psychologists, for example, posit between the person who observes nature and the person himself are not real at all; they are, in fact, merely artificially contrived. But what lives within the simplest peasant, within the most primitive person in our world, is this: deep within himself he seeks—I say seeks—deep within himself he seeks something that is not out there in nature. He is searching for a different worldview [than that] derived from nature, and it is this worldview that must be spoken to him if the feeling he experiences as a religious feeling is to arise at all. The primitive human simply expresses what lives in his subconscious: “I am not made of the same stuff as the world I perceive with my senses; tell me something about what I cannot perceive with my senses!” — This is the direct appeal made to us when a person is to make us his religious guides: we must tell him something about the positive content of the supersensible world.

[ 35 ] Our entire theory of knowledge—which states that sensory perceptions and sensations are subjective or more or less objective, and so on—is, in essence, of little concern to the vast majority of people. But people want to learn from us whether there must be something in the world that, in its very nature, does not belong to the sensory world. And that is really what this is all about: How do we meet this human need? We can only meet it by finding the right path from doctrine to worship; and I will say a few introductory words about this question tomorrow. Today, I would very much appreciate it if you would share your thoughts so that I may come to understand your needs.

[ 36 ] Perhaps we will focus more on formulating questions than on providing answers, but it would still be quite good if we could get to the point of formulating the most important questions. For my part, while I am here, I would like to offer you, above all, what can lead you to an approach to religion that, I would say, lies in the vocation of a religious leader, not in theology. So this should be aimed at religious practice, at the organization of religious institutions, rather than so much at theological questions. But if such questions are weighing on your mind, we can discuss them as well. I would ask that, especially today, when we discuss what is particularly on your mind, we at least begin by formulating the questions.

[ 37 ] One participant suggests that Mr. Bock from Berlin should formulate the questions.

[ 38 ] Emil Bock: Last night I reported on what we had tried to clarify in Berlin as part of our internal preparation, and in doing so we attempted to distinguish between various sets of questions. And following what we have heard, we can now probably formulate, as a first step, the one question that summarizes the three areas we had distinguished: the questions of worship and preaching, and the question of the legitimacy of the communal element in the congregation. I sought to clarify this last night by referring to the historical trend of the communal movement within church history. And there we actually found that what is at stake for us is clarity regarding the relationship between anthroposophical educational work on religious questions and purely religious practice—that is, either within worship, the relationship between ritual and preaching, or, encompassing what must take place outside of worship, the relationship of the worship service as a whole to religious lecturing, or of religious ritual to teaching children, for what is ultimately gained through symbolism has not yet truly entered human consciousness. Now the question for us is: To what extent must it actually enter consciousness at all, and if it must enter consciousness, how must this be achieved and balanced between the symbolic influence on the part of the human being that receives impulses, and the part of the human being that simultaneously attempts to develop an awareness of it—which, in turn, will give rise to several problems when we consider the diversity of those we will later be dealing with? For many people may not feel the need to raise these impulses into consciousness, while many others will initially face the problem of consciousness itself.

[ 39 ] And this raised the question: How, then, can we actually reconcile the pursuit of a communal religious life with the pursuit of revitalizing the “I” impulse? For with many people who belong to bourgeois life, we must expect that—as far as we can see—what would initially come into consideration is a genuine self-actualization of the individual precisely through religious practice, a connection to the “I” forces, whereas with many other people we must bring about a regulation of a misguided “I” striving. This is what we have sensed regarding the question of communal forces, much as we were able to illustrate it in the context of church history through the Moravian Church.

[ 40 ] With that, I have now outlined the set of issues that were important to us last night. However, we also had three other areas that raised various questions for us, starting with purely organizational matters. If we set out to prepare ourselves and draw the necessary conclusions for our personal sphere of work—conclusions that arise when we realize that, ultimately, the goal is to establish congregations based on a new principle—then the question before us is this, and of course this varies in practice depending on the situation each individual faces: What preparatory work must we do? Can we lay the groundwork through public speaking? How can we practically divide up the tasks where work needs to be done, and how can we come to a common understanding about these matters? It was clear to us, of course, that we do not expect things to be made easy for us now or that we will simply be given a place. We are already prepared to create such areas of work. But perhaps there is something to be learned about how this can be made easier for us in a certain sense. Then there are many things—some of which may be purely organizational—that we would like to ask about during the course of our discussion.

[ 41 ] Then, the second issue—besides purely organizational matters—was our relationship to theological scholarship. This primarily involved two questions: First, the theological training of those who would later work in such congregations, insofar as such training might intersect with university programs and we could learn from them. Then there was the question of the new understanding of the Bible, which, after all, naturally presupposes a theological education that, in a certain sense, goes beyond a knowledge of the anthroposophical worldview as a technical education. Perhaps there are still some practical questions on one person’s or another’s mind; perhaps one or the other has a greater inclination toward scholarly activity, and it would be interesting for all of us to see how this theological-scholarly activity might, after all, be made fruitful for contemporary religious life.

[ 42 ] And finally, the last of the six areas we are considering—which is probably the one that is least easily formulated as a direct question—is precisely the question of the quality of priesthood that we must expect of ourselves if we undertake such a task. This, however, is closely linked to a practical matter that we really need to address: the question of selecting the individuals who will ultimately be involved in this work. After all, we must somehow determine how to select ourselves for this task, quite apart from the question of where the initial decision regarding the direction of our self-assessment will ultimately lie. I believe I have now said, more or less, what last night’s discussion was about.

[ 43 ] Rudolf Steiner: These are, in fact, the very questions that must be asked at this turning point to which I have alluded, and the purpose of our gathering here will, in fact, have to be precisely to gain clarity on these questions—and also on certain matters that, I would say, form the prerequisite for them. Once the questions have been formulated, before we discuss them, I would just like to point out a few things: For one thing, we are living today in a time when precisely such questions must be assessed from the highest possible perspective—including from the highest historical perspective. It is by no means in the spirit of the spiritual scientist to always use the phrase, “We are living in a time of transition.” Of course, every era is a time of transition from what came before to what comes after, but the point is to look beyond what is regarded as a time of transition to that which is actually being transitioned into. And in our time, something that is very strongly in a state of transition does indeed reveal itself: human consciousness itself. We are very easily misled when we believe that consciousness, as it still manifests itself in many respects today, is, so to speak, unchanging.

[ 44 ] It is very easy for us to say today: Yes, there are people who, through their higher education, will want to become aware of the content of the cult; other people will have no need for this—they will not even strive to bring the matter into their conscious lives. — You see, we are living at a point in the development of humanity within world history where the defining characteristic is that the number of people who wish to be enlightened—in an appropriate way—about what constitutes their own culture is growing very rapidly. And we must take this into account. We must not form the dogmatic prejudice today that “you can enlighten this person, but not that one.” For if we assume today that people at a certain level of education do not wish to be enlightened, then we will, for the most part, be mistaken in the long run. The number of people who wish to attain a certain degree of awareness regarding the symbolic and the living elements of religious practice is indeed growing every day, and the main question is quite a different one, namely this: How do we arrive at a culture and symbolic content if, at the same time, we demand that, as soon as one consciously educates oneself about this symbolic content, it does not become abstract and alien to the soul, but rather attains its full value and significance? — That is the question that is of particular interest to us today.

[ 45 ] Unless the focus is specifically on religion, one can point to Goethe’s fairy tale of the green snake and the beautiful lily, which emerged from a man whom one might describe—if one wishes, if one stretches the terms a bit—as someone who always dreamed of such things. It is also said that Schiller interpreted Goethe’s dreams. In a certain sense, however, Goethe was far more conscious of what lived in his fairy tale than Schiller ever became. But his consciousness is one that can live within the image itself; it is not that abstract consciousness which is experienced today as consciousness in and of itself. Today, people confuse the intellect with consciousness altogether. It is believed that someone who imagines in images is, to a certain degree, less conscious than someone who imagines intellectually. Today, intellectual imagination is confused with consciousness.

[ 46 ] We will have to discuss the question of the conscious, unconscious, and superconscious aspects of a cult and its symbolism—a topic that, in the deepest sense, must concern us today. For on the one hand, we have the Catholic Church with its truly powerful cult and its immensely powerful and purposeful symbolism. What immense power lies in the Mass alone when it is performed as it is in Catholic congregations—that is, performed in full awareness of the faithful who are present. And the sermon delivered by a Catholic pastor also has content that relates to this symbolism, and in particular, it is deeply imbued with will. [On the other hand], through the Protestant development of the last few centuries, the focus has shifted from ritual to the actual doctrinal content, to the substance of the teaching. The doctrinal content, however, tends to be effective only to an ever-greater extent when it is attuned to the understanding of the listener or reader. For this reason, the Protestant churches face the danger of atomization—the danger that each person will form their own church within their heart—and precisely because of this, the formation of community becomes impossible. And this danger is indeed one that must be countered.

[ 47 ] We must have the opportunity to form a community—one that is built not merely on external institutions but on the inner spiritual life; that is to say, we must be able to bridge the gap between a form of worship and ritual that can stand up to modern consciousness and yet, like the Protestant confession, leads us back to a deeper doctrinal content.

[ 48 ] The content of teaching individualizes; it analyzes the community until, ultimately, it reaches the individual human being; it even analyzes the individual through his or her tendencies. Anyone who is a psychologist sees the torn natures of the present; they are individualized right down to the level of the individual. Indeed, today we can see people who not only strive to have their own individual creed, but who have two or even more creeds that battle within their own souls. The numerous torn natures of the present are merely the continuation of the tendency that individualizes and analyzes the community. Cult, symbol, and ritual are the synthetic elements that, in turn, bring people together; this can be observed wherever one engages with these things in practice. Therefore, this question is at the same time the one that must truly underlie the question of the community movement.

[ 49 ] The question of anthroposophical enlightenment and purely religious practice must, in turn, be resolved in light of the important juncture we find ourselves at today. We are, however, experiencing something tragic at this time; and it would be particularly significant if a certain force could emanate from your community here—a force that could, for the time being, help us move beyond this tragedy. When one has a form of enlightenment such as that which, I would say, emerges as religious enlightenment as a consequence of the entire anthroposophical enlightenment—which, after all, includes not only religious but also historical, scientific, and other forms of enlightenment—when one considers these religious aspects of anthroposophical enlightenment, the ideas one gains and, as a consequence of these ideas, the feelings one experiences, are such that they cannot help but transform into a longing for the outer symbol, for the image. This is so often misunderstood—that anthroposophical ideas are fundamentally different from the ideas one otherwise encounters today. When one encounters ideas today—whether from science or from social life—they operate in the sense that is commonly called “enlightenment,” and in the sense of criticizing everything, of breaking everything down. When one encounters anthroposophical ideas, they lead to a certain devotion in the human being; they transform into a certain love. Just as red blood cannot help but build up the human being, so too can anthroposophical ideas not help but stimulate the human being emotionally, sensually, and even volitionally, so that he receives the deepest longing to express what he has to say through the symbolic, indeed through imagery in general. It is not something artificially introduced when, for example, you find so much imagery in my Occult Science; it simply comes down to the fact that one ultimately expresses oneself through images.

[ 50 ] In Dornach—those who were there saw it; later, of course, it will be seen in its completed form—we have a Christ group at the center of the building: Christ with Lucifer and Ahriman, both of whom find themselves defeated by him. In Christ, a synthesis of all that is sensory and supersensory is presented before the human eye. Yes, you see, sculpting such a figure does not come about simply because one has decided to place a figure there to adorn the site. It is not like that at all; rather, when one develops the anthroposophical concepts, one ultimately arrives at a conclusion with those concepts. It is like coming to a pond; you cannot go any further, but if you want to proceed, you must swim. Similarly, if you wish to go further with anthroposophy, at a certain point you can no longer form abstract concepts or ideas; instead, you must enter into images. The ideas themselves demand that you begin to express yourself in images.

[ 51 ] I have often said the following to my listeners: There are certain theories of knowledge. Especially among Protestant theologians, there are those who say: Yes, what one knows must be clothed in purely logical forms; one must view things through pure logic, otherwise one is dealing with a myth. Isn’t that right? [That’s how] people like Bruhn, in particular, speak. He works very hard against anthroposophy by saying that it creates myths, a new mythology. — Yes, but what if the counterquestion is posed: Just try, for once, to fathom the universe with your logic, without resorting to imagery. If the universe itself appears not merely logical but also artistic, then you must view it artistically as well; if the universe eludes your logical scrutiny, what then? — In the same way, the outer human form also eludes mere logical speculation. When one takes the true anthroposophical concepts, one enters into the image, because nature creates not according to mere natural laws, but according to forms.

[ 52 ] And so one can say that, as anthroposophy unfolds today, it takes into account what is truly at work in the hearts of our contemporaries—[the need] to move beyond intellectualism. In fact, every sensible contemporary who is keeping pace with these developments acknowledges this. They recognize that we must move beyond intellectualism—in theology as well, of course. But most do not yet realize that this turn toward the pictorial—which then becomes ritual worship in the realm of religious practice—has just as much legitimacy and just as much originality as the logical.

[ 53 ] Most people imagine that images are created by starting with concepts and then cloaking them in symbolism. This is always a hollow symbolism. That is not the case [in Dornach]. In Dornach, there is no symbol based on a concept; rather, at a certain level, one has moved away from the idea, and now the image lives out its existence as something primordial. It is there as an image. And one cannot say that a concept has been transposed into the image. That would be a hollow symbolism.

[ 54 ] This striving to overcome intellectualism exists today—this striving for a life of the soul that, because of objectivity, transitions into the pictorial. On the other hand, there is no faith in the image at all today. This is what makes it tragic. People believe that if they are truly intelligent, they must overcome the image; they believe that they only become truly conscious once they have overcome the image. — Images such as those in Goethe’s fairy tale of the green snake and the beautiful lily are always stripped of their reality when one attempts to explain or interpret them through intellectual speculation. One can only help the person in question to absorb these images, so that they can become concrete for them, but not comment on them intellectually. This is what distinguishes everything I have contributed to the interpretation of Goethe’s fairy tales from what other commentators do. They make annotations and explain the images intellectually.

[ 55 ] Intellectual explanation is just as foreign to what underlies true imagination as, for example, what I say in German about the Chinese language. If I want to teach someone Chinese, I must guide them from a non-Chinese state of mind to the point where they can grasp Chinese in its entirety, so that they transition into it. And in the same way, one must prepare the way for true imagery; this is how one must proceed so that the person in question can then make the images present within themselves and does not have to attach an explanation to them.

[ 56 ] The tragedy is that, on the one hand, there is a profound need for images, while on the other hand, any faith in images has essentially faded away. We do not believe that images offer us something that cannot be expressed through reason or intellectual concepts. We must first understand this when we discuss the question of symbol and consciousness in the near future. In particular, we will only be able to answer the question of the balance between the subconscious and the conscious—a question that torments so many people today—in a fruitful way once we are clear on this matter.

[ 57 ] So perhaps I would like to ask you to think about this until tomorrow—what I have just hinted at in this vein regarding the relationship between concepts of the intellect and real images. From this perspective, we will also find that we can enter into the formation of community, for the formation of community depends greatly on the possibility of a cult. The practical success of community-building also actually depends on the possibility of a cult.

[ 58 ] You see, among people who get to know India and its religions, one aspect is always rightly emphasized: Of course, there are many sects in India; these have a very strong communal life that penetrates deep into the soul, which can certainly manifest itself as practical communal life, and which can incorporate—in a certain sense, of course, in the form that must be adapted to the East—many of the principles underlying the Moravian Church. This is often rooted in the fact that, in his individual life, the Eastern person does not actually know what we call subjective, personal conviction in relation to the community surrounding him. The Eastern person, if he participates at all in spiritual life, does not understand at all that one cannot have one’s own opinion about everything within oneself—for example, about a community and a body of teachings; this is something he does not understand at all. Conceptually, everyone can have their own opinion; the common element there is merely the image, and one is merely aware that the common element is the image. What is peculiar is that in the West there is a tendency to place value on conviction, and that this leads to atomization. If one seeks conviction and places value on it first and foremost, then one ends up with atomization. This does not occur if one seeks commonality in something other than conviction. Conviction must be able to be entirely individual.

[ 59 ] We must ask ourselves this question: On the one hand, the “I” stands as the pinnacle of individual life; on the other, Christ stands as the power and being that is not only shared by Christians down to the very core of the “I,” but of whom it must be claimed that he can become common to all people. And we must find a way to bridge the gap between the entirely individual “I”—which, in a sense, wants to believe what it can—and the universality of Christ.

[ 60 ] We should then focus in particular on the question of forming congregations, and—as the Lord quite rightly said—on the preparatory work involved. For these are, of course, matters that will present entirely different challenges. On the one hand, we are almost compelled today to conduct preparatory work through instruction in such a way that we find a sufficiently large number of people whose souls are initially receptive to what can actually be intended; on the other hand, we are faced with a humanity that is utterly fragmented. The mere fact that we presume to know something about a subject—something that another person might need a day to think about in order to judge it—is almost enough today to have us rebuked on the spot. The impact of one person on another is incredibly difficult today. And that, of course, also makes building a community more difficult.

[ 61 ] Nevertheless, if you wish to achieve anything in the one and only goal you could possibly have had in mind by coming here, then we will have to discuss this very question of community-building at great length—and above all, the preparatory work involved, which essentially must consist of our seeing ourselves, already spiritually and mentally, as community-builders. And we can hardly do this in any other way than by—perhaps what I mean will not be immediately clear at first, for it touches on one of the deepest questions of our time—first attempting, as far as possible, to refrain from lecturing other people. People simply do not want to be lectured to today; this should not be our main task.

[ 62 ] You see, after all, however small the success of the anthroposophical work may be—which I had to make my task—in a certain sense this success is there, even if only within a small circle; it is there. And what is there is based on the fact that I have actually—in the sense in which this is understood at our educational institutions—never wanted, first and foremost, to forcefully instruct anyone. I have actually always proceeded according to a law of nature; I always told myself: Herring lay an infinite number of eggs in the sea, but only a very small fraction of them become herring; rather, a certain selection must take place. And anyone who knows that what transcends the material realm continues to have an effect—who knows that even the unfertilized herring eggs have their purpose in the totality of the world—they have their great effect in the etheric world, while selection takes place only for the physical world—such a person then moves beyond this question: Why do such herring eggs remain unfertilized? That which remains unfertilized has its great purpose in another world. These unfertilized herring eggs are not entirely without significance. And this is essentially how it is with the instruction of human beings. I have never believed—whether speaking to an audience of fifty people or an audience of five hundred —and I have spoken to even larger audiences—that one could instruct perhaps half or a quarter of them; rather, I have assumed that among five hundred there might be five, at first glance, whose hearts are touched by what one has to say—who are, so to speak, predestined for this from the outset. Among fifty, one; and among five people, one-tenth of a person. It is no different, and one must adjust to this. Then what cannot be achieved through instruction in the present day happens through selection. Those in whom one has stirred a response come together. Selection is what we must seek first and foremost today; then we will indeed make progress.

[ 63 ] It takes a certain degree of resignation not to live in this sense of power: one wants to instruct, one wants to convince others. But this resignation is absolutely essential. And the reason why so many lack it—and here I am speaking only of those who practice religion—is precisely related to their theological training. This theological training is, after all, based entirely on the idea that one can instruct anyone, and that one should not, in fact, make distinctions. Therefore, ways and means must be found to incorporate, above all, the emotional attitude toward spiritual content into theological training.

[ 64 ] You see, even theology has, unfortunately, come to the point where knowledge of God is always placed above life in God—the experience of the divine in the soul. The experience of the divine in the soul—that is what gives one the strength to have an impact even on the simplest, most unspoiled of people, and that is what should actually be cultivated. Modern times have worked entirely against this. The more one strives to seek abstract concepts of some kind of supersensible being, and the less one seeks to take in this supersensible being within the soul itself, the more one will work against this. We truly need a vibrant preparation and grounding for the study of theology. And here, of course, something esoteric comes into play—you see, where one must point to a law that already exists. First of all, you must possess within yourselves what I mentioned earlier: that you do not merely think, as an intelligent person, about how to convey an image or anything else to another—you must have that to the fullest extent—but you must also possess the other quality: that at all times you must know even more than what you say. I don’t mean that in a negative sense at all. But if you adopt the standpoint that the academic world actually holds today—that one should acquire for oneself only what one then intends to communicate to others—then you will certainly not be able to achieve much with religious communication. For example, when you speak about the Bible—besides the exoteric, which is really nothing other than the esoteric expressed in words (there is no absolute boundary between the exoteric and the esoteric; one flows into the other, and the esoteric becomes exoteric when it is spoken)—you must still have your own inner content in which you live.

[ 65 ] This is, in essence, the source of the effectiveness of Catholic priests. This is what the recitation of the Breviary consists of. Through this recitation of the Breviary, he seeks to draw closer to the divine in a way that transcends the layperson’s experience. And the specific content of the Breviary—which goes beyond what is taught—simultaneously provides the strength to be effective in preaching and in other ways. It has always interested me—this has not happened just once, but I have experienced it particularly often—that Protestant pastors who had been in ministry for a long time have come to me and said that there must surely be something similar for them [to the Catholic Breviary]. Please do not misunderstand me; I am not speaking in favor of Catholicism, least of all Roman Catholicism. It is simply that pastors have come to me—who, as I said, had been in ministry for a long time—and said: “What is the reason that we cannot connect with souls in this way, as the Catholic priest does, even though he naturally abuses this privilege?”—This is essentially because the [Catholic priest] seeks an esoteric relationship with the spiritual world.

[ 66 ] That is really what we are striving for in the threefold social order. This spiritual life that we have today as a general phenomenon—we are not talking about the other one, of course—this spiritual life that we have is not a true spiritual life; it is merely an intellectual life. People speak of the spirit; they have concepts, but concepts are not a living spirit. We must not only have the spirit in some form as concepts sitting in our heads, but we must bring the spirit down to earth; it must be present in the institutions; it must reign among people. But we can only do this if we have an independent spiritual life, in which we act not merely from concepts about the spirit, but from the spirit itself.

[ 67 ] Well, of course, the Church has long striven to preserve this living spirit. It has long since disappeared from the schools; but we must bring it back there and into the other institutions as well. The state cannot bring it back. This can only be achieved by that which is at once an individual priestly ministry and a communal ministry. But a priestly ministry must be such that the priest, above all else, possesses within himself an awareness of an esoteric connection with the spiritual world itself—not merely with concepts about the spiritual world. And this naturally leads us to the crucial question of selection: the assessment of priestly qualities. Now, this assessment of priestly qualities is such that it can, in essence, be very easily misunderstood; for, first of all, far more people possess these qualities than one might think—they are simply not developed or nurtured in the right way; and secondly, this question is often a matter of destiny. When we come to have a living spiritual life at all, and the questions of destiny become alive for us once more, then priests will be called to their place more from within the community of people than from a process of self-examination, which always has a strongly egotistical character. It is indeed the case that one must cultivate a certain perspective on what objectively calls upon one to do this or that.

[ 68 ] Perhaps I can share with you as well what I’ve shared in various places as an example. I could also give other examples. I gave a lecture in Colmar on the Bible and wisdom. After the lecture, two Catholic priests came up to me. As you can imagine, Catholic priests haven’t read anything by me, since they’re actually forbidden to do so, and it’s basically considered an anomaly for a Catholic priest to attend an anthroposophical lecture. But they were probably harmless back then; they approached me quite innocently, and since I hadn’t said anything in that particular lecture that would have offended them, they even came up to me after the lecture and said: “Yes, actually we can’t say anything [against what you’ve presented]; we, too, have Purgatory, and we, too, have references to a supersensible life after Purgatory.” — Well, in this particular case, I thought it best to give two lectures: “The Bible and Wisdom” I and II. In the first lecture, I didn’t mention anything about repeated earthly lives, so they didn’t notice that there was a contradiction with the Roman Catholic view. Now they came and said that they had no objection to the content itself, but that the “how”—the way I presented the matter—was quite different, and they felt they could not agree with this “how.” For the “how” would be correct according to them, since they spoke on behalf of all people, whereas I spoke only on behalf of certain prepared individuals—people who have undergone a certain preparation for this. — After some back-and-forth, I then said the following: Look, it doesn’t matter whether I or you—you or I, I said—have the conviction that we speak for all people. That conviction is, after all, quite understandable. We might not speak at all if we didn’t have the conviction that we formulate our ideas in such a way and imbue them with such substance that we speak for all people. But what matters is not that we have the conviction that we speak for all people, but rather the objective fact of whether all people come to your church. And so I ask you: Do all people still come to your church when you speak? — Of course, they couldn’t say that everyone still comes; rather, they had to admit that some simply do not come. That is the objective reality. It is for those who do not come to you—and who also have the right to seek their own path to Christ—that I have spoken. — One’s task is determined by the facts.

[ 69 ] I simply wanted to offer some guidance on how to get used to letting the question of fate—and also the great question of objectivity—define one’s personal mission. I wanted to show that we should not dwell so much on our own personality—as is often the case today—since, after all, it is essentially there only to enable us to fill the place assigned to us by the divine world government—but rather, we should try to observe signs from which we can recognize the place where we are meant to be. And we can do that.

[ 70 ] Time and again today, when people speak from the depths of their souls, they ask: What matches my unique abilities, and how can I put my abilities to good use? — This question is far, far less important than the objective question, which is answered simply by looking around to see where there is work to be done. And if we then truly and earnestly engage with what we observe there, we will see that we possess far more abilities than we realize. These abilities are not all that specific; as human beings, we are capable of an immense amount; we possess very universal qualities of the soul, not so much specific ones. This brooding over one’s own self, and believing too strongly that each of us has specific abilities that need to be cultivated in particular—this is, at its core, an inner, very subtle form of egoism that must be overcome precisely by those who wish to attain the qualities referred to here.

[ 71 ] Well, I believe I’ve also explained to you how I view these issues. We can now think things over until tomorrow; and if it’s all right with you, I’d like to suggest that we meet again tomorrow at around 11 a.m. And I ask that you not hold back on any matter—let’s discuss the issues on your mind as thoroughly as possible.