Lecture 4
Nature of Prayer
Berlin,
17th February 1910
In the lecture on mysticism, we spoke of the particular form
of inward deepening which appears in the mysticism of the Middle Ages from
the time of Meister Eckhart down to Angelus Silesius. Its characteristic is
that the mystic seeks to make himself free and independent of all the
experiences that come to him from the external world. He tries to press on to
an experience which will prove to him that when everything to do with
ordinary life has been extinguished and the soul withdraws into itself, it
still has within it a world of its own, so to speak. This world is always
there but is outshone by the external experiences that work so powerfully on
human beings, and thus it appears as a light so weak that most people never
notice it. Hence the mystic often calls it the little spark. But he is sure
it can be fanned into a powerful flame which will illuminate the sources and
foundations of existence. In other words, it leads a man along the path of
his own soul to a knowledge of his origin, which can indeed be called
“knowledge of God.”
In the same lecture
we observed how the mediaeval mystics supposed that the little spark had to
grow by itself, its own nature remaining unchanged. In opposition to this, we
emphasised that modern spiritual research calls for a development of these
inner soul-forces under conscious control, so that they can rise to higher
forms of cognition, which we called Imagination, Inspiration and Intuition.
So this inwardly devoted mediaeval mysticism comes before us as a sort of
first step towards true spiritual investigation. If we are able to immerse
ourselves in the inward fervour of a Meister Eckhart; if we recognise the
immeasurable force of spiritual knowledge that this mystical devotion gave to
Johannes Tauler; if we appreciate how deeply Valentin Weigel
[ 21 ]
or Jacob Boehme
[ 22 ]
were led into the secrets of existence by all that they achieved
through this physical devotion (though they certainly advanced beyond it); if
we understand how Angelus Silesius was enabled through this same devotion not
only to gain illuminating insights into the general laws of spiritual
world-order but to give heart-warmingly beautiful expression in his writings
to the secrets of the world — if we bear all this in mind, we shall
realise the power and depth that resides in this medieval mysticism, and the
endless help it can give to anyone who wishes to follow the
spiritual-scientific path for himself.
Mediaeval mysticism
can thus be regarded — particularly in the light of the last lecture
— as a great and wonderful preparatory school for spiritual-scientific
research. And how could it be otherwise? After all, the aim of the spiritual
scientist is to develop the little spark through his own inner forces. The
only difference is that the mystics believed that they could surrender
themselves in peace of soul to the little spark and that it would come to
shine ever more brightly of its own accord, whereas the spiritual scientist
is convinced that we must use our capacities and forces, placed by the wisdom
of the world in the service of our will, to kindle the spark to a brighter
flame. If, then, the mystical frame of mind is a good preparation for
spiritual science, we have, in turn, as a preparation for mystical devotion,
the activity of soul which can be called, in the true sense, prayer. Just as
the mystic is able to attain to his inward devotion because he has —
even though unconsciously — trained his soul for it, so, if we wish to
work our way along the same path to physical meditation, we can look for a
preparatory stage in true prayer.
During recent
centuries, the nature of prayer has been misunderstood in all sorts of ways
by this or that spiritual movement, and to gain a true understanding of it
will not be easy. If, however, we remember that these centuries have been
marked especially by the emergence of egotistic spiritual trends which have
laid hold of wide circles of people, we shall not find it surprising that
prayer has been dragged down to the level of egotistic wishes and desires.
And it must be said that prayer can hardly be more utterly misunderstood than
when it is permeated by some form of egotism. In this lecture we shall try to
study prayer entirely in the light of spiritual science, free from any
sectarian or other influence.
As a first approach,
we might say that while the mystic assumes that he will find in his soul some
kind of little spark which his mystical devotion will cause to shine ever
more brightly, prayer is intended to engender the spark. And prayer, from
whatever presuppositions it proceeds, proves its effectiveness precisely by
stirring the soul either to discover gradually the little spark, if it is
there, gleaming but hidden, or to kindle it.
If we are to study
the need for prayer and its nature, we shall have to enter on a description
of the soul in depth, bearing in mind the always relevant saying of the old
Greek sage, Heraclitus, quoted in an earlier lecture: “Never will you
find the boundaries of the soul, by whatever paths you search, so
all-embracing is the soul's being.”
[ 23 ]
And although in prayer
we are at first seeking only for the soul's inner secrets, the intimate
feelings stirred by prayer can give even the simplest person some inkling of
the endless expanses of soul-life. We have to realise that the soul is
engaged in a process of living evolution. It not only comes from the past and
is always travelling towards the future; the effects of the past extend into
every present moment, and so in a certain sense, do those of the
future.
Anyone who looks
deeply into the life of the soul will see that these two streams, one from
the past and one from the future, are continually meeting there. The fact
that we are influenced by the past is obvious: who could deny that our energy
or idleness of yesterday has some effect on us today? But we ought not to
deny the reality of the future, either, for we can observe in the soul the
intrusion of future events, although they have not yet happened, After all,
there is such a thing as fear of something likely to happen tomorrow, or
anxiety about it. Is that not a sort of feeling or perception concerned with
the future? Whenever the soul experiences fear or anxiety, it shows by the
reality of its feelings that it is reckoning not only with the past but in a
very lively manner with something hastening towards it from the future.
These, of course, are single examples, but they will suffice to suggest that
anyone who surveys the soul will find numerous others to contradict the
abstract logic which says that since the future does not yet exist, it can
have no present influence.
Thus there are these
two streams, one from the past and one from the future, which come together
in the soul — will anyone who observes himself deny that? — and
produce a kind of whirlpool, comparable to the confluence of two rivers.
Closer observation shows that the impressions left on us by past experiences,
and in which we have dealt with them, have made the soul what it is. We bear
within ourselves the legacy of our doing, feeling and thinking in the past.
If we look back over these past experiences, especially those in which we
played an active part, we shall very often be impelled to an assessment of
ourselves. We have become capable from our present standpoint of disagreeing
with some deeds that happened in our past; we have reached the stage of even
being able to look back with shame, perhaps, at some of our past
actions.
If we compare our
present with our past in this way, we shall come to feel that within us there
is something far richer and more significant than whatever we have made of
ourselves through our individual powers. If there were not something
extending beyond our conscious selves, we should be unable to reproach
ourselves or even to know ourselves. We must, then, have within us something
that is greater than anything we have employed to form ourselves in the past.
If we transform this realisation into a feeling, we shall be able to look
back at everything in our past actions, at experiences that memory can bring
clearly before us, and we shall be able to compare these memories with
something greater, with something in our soul that guides us to stand face to
face with ourselves and to judge ourselves from the standpoint of the
present. In short, when we observe the stream flowing into us from the past,
we feel that we have within us something that extends beyond ourselves. This
intimation is the first awakening of a feeling of God within us; a feeling
that something greater than all our will-power dwells within us. And thus we
are led to look beyond our limited ego towards a divine-spiritual ego. That
is the outcome of a contemplation of the past, transformed into perceptive
feeling.
What, then, does the
stream from the future say to us, again in terms of perceptive feeling? It
speaks to us in even clearer and more emphatic language, since we are here
concerned directly with emotions of fear and anxiety, hope and joy. For the
relevant events have not yet occurred; only the feelings connected with them
strike into the soul. And we know that this stream from the future may bring
different effects and responsibilities from those we expect. If we ran relate
ourselves rightly to whatever experiences are surely coming towards us from
the dark womb of the future, we shall see how this continually stimulates the
soul. We feel how in the future the soul can become far richer, wider in
scope, than it now is; we feel that we are already related to the approaching
future and that our soul must be a match for anything it may
bring.
If in this way we
observe how past and future flow into the present, we can see how the life of
the soul grows beyond itself. When the soul, on looking back over the past,
becomes aware — whether as a judgment or with regret or shame —
of a power from the past which is playing into the present but which is
greater than itself, this realisation will evoke in the soul a reverence
towards the divine. And this reverence, which we can feel working upon us but
which is more than we can consciously grasp, evokes one mode of prayer
— for there are two which bring the soul into an intimate relationship
with God. For if the soul surrenders itself in innermost calm to the feelings
engendered by the past, it will begin to wish that the power it had left
unused, which it had not penetrated with its ego, might now become a present
reality. Then the soul can say to itself. If this power were within me, I
should be different now. The divine element I aspire to did not belong to my
inner life; that is why I failed to make myself into something of which I
could approve today. Having come to this realisation, the soul might
continue: How can I draw into myself the unknown which indeed lived in all my
actions and experiences, but without my being aware of it, for I was not able
to grasp it with my ego? When the soul is brought to this frame of mind,
whether through a feeling, a word or an idea, we have the prayer directed to
the past. This means that the soul is seeking to draw near to the divine
along one devotional path.
Now we will turn to
the gleam of the divine that comes with the stream from the unknown future.
Here a different frame of mind is evoked. As we have just seen, when we look
back over the past we realise that we have not developed our innate
capabilities; we see how our shortcomings have prevented us from responding
to the divine light that shines in on us, and this feeling leads us to the
prayer of devotion, prompted by the past. What, then, is the influence coming
from the future that in a similar way makes us aware of our defects which
restrict our ascent to the spiritual?
We need only to
remember the feelings of fear and anxiety that gnaw at our soul-life in face
of the unknown future. Is there anything that can give the soul a sense of
security in this situation? Yes, there is. It is what we may call a feeling
of humbleness towards anything that may come towards the soul out of the
darkness of the future. But this feeling will be effective only if it has the
character of prayer. Let us avoid misunderstanding. We are not extolling
something that might be called humbleness in one sense or another; we are
describing a definite form of it — humbleness to whatever the future
may bring. Anyone who looks anxiously and fearfully towards the future
hinders his development, hampers the free unfolding of his soul-forces.
Nothing, indeed, obstructs this development more than fear and anxiety in
face of the unknown future. But the results of submitting to the future can
be judged only by experience. What does this humbleness mean?
Ideally, it would
mean saying to oneself: Whatever the next hour or day may bring, I cannot
change it by fear or anxiety, for it is not yet known. I will therefore wait
for it with complete inward restfulness, perfect tranquillity of mind. Anyone
who can meet the future in this calm, relaxed way, without impairing his
active strength and energy, will be able to develop the powers of his soul
freely and intensively. It is as if hindrance after hindrance falls away, as
the soul comes to be more and more pervaded by this feeling of humbleness
toward approaching events.
This feeling,
however, cannot be called forth in the soul by some edict, or by an arbitrary
decision with no firm basis. It springs from the second mode of prayer,
directed towards the future and the wisdom-filled course of events therein.
To give ourselves over to this divine wisdom means that we call up again and
again the thoughts, feelings and impulses that go with a recognition that
what will come must come and that in one direction or another it must have
good effects. To call forth this frame of mind and to give it expression in
words, perceptions and ideas — that is the second mode of prayer the
prayer of devotional submission.
It is from these
feelings that impulses to prayer must come. For they are present in the soul
itself, and fundamentally they lead towards prayer in every soul that raises
itself even a little above the immediate present. The pre-condition of
prayer, one might say, occurs when the soul turns its gaze away from the
transitory present towards the eternal, which embraces past, present and
future. It is because this raising of oneself above the present is so
necessary that Goethe gives to Faust target=_blank>Faust the great lines, addressed to
Mephistopheles:
If
to the moment fleeting past
‘Linger’, I cry, ‘thou art so fair!’
This means: if I were to be satisfied with living merely for
the moment —
Then
in fetters you may bind me,
Let me perish, for all I care!
[ 24 ]
Hence one could also say: It is for the power to pray that
Faust begs in order to escape from the fetters of his companion,
Mephistopheles.
The experience of
prayer, accordingly, leads us on the one hand to observe our narrowly
restricted ego, which has worked its way from the past into the present, and
shows us clearly how very much more there is in us than we have put to use;
on the other hand it leads us to look towards the future and shows us how
much more can flow from the future into our ego than our ego has grasped so
far. If we understand this, we shall find in every prayer a force that leads
us beyond ourselves. For what else is prayer than the lighting-up within us
of a power that seeks to transcend what our ego is at the moment? And if the
ego is seized by this striving, it already has the power to develop itself.
When the past has taught us that we have more within us than we have ever put
to use, then prayer is a cry to the divine that it may fill us with its
presence. When we have come to this knowledge through our own feelings and
perceptions, we can number prayer among the forces that will aid the
development of our ego.
We can do the same
with prayer directed towards the future. If we live in fear and anxiety about
the approaching future, we lack the attitude of humbleness that prayer can
bring. We fail to realise that our destiny is ordered by the wisdom of the
world. But if we meet the future with humbleness and devotion, we draw near
to it in fruitful hope. So it is that humbleness, which may seem to diminish
us, becomes a powerful force, enriching the soul and carrying our development
to higher levels.
We need not expect
any external results from prayer, for we know that through prayer we have
implanted in our souls a source of light and warmth: of light, because we set
the soul free in its relation to the future and dispose it to accept whatever
may emerge from that dark womb; of warmth, because prayer helps us to
recognise that, although in the past we failed to bring the divine element to
fruition in our ego, we have now pervaded our feelings with it, so that it
can be an effective power within us, The prayer that springs from looking
back over the past gives rise to that inner warmth which is spoken of by all
who understand prayer in its true nature. And the inward light comes to those
who understand the prayer of humbleness towards the future.
From this point of
view it will not seem surprising that the greatest mystics found in their
devotion to prayer the best preparation for what they hoped to achieve
through inward contemplation. They led their soul to the point where they
were able to kindle to brightness the little spark within them. It is
precisely through entering into the past that we can gain access to that
wonderful feeling of intimacy which true prayer can bestow. Preoccupation
with the external world estranges us from ourselves, just as in the past it
prevented the more powerful element in us, the ego conscious of itself, from
emerging. We were given over to external impressions and the manifold demands
of outer life; they tear us apart and keep us from recollecting ourselves in
tranquillity. This is what prevented the stronger divine power within us from
unfolding. But now, if we allow it to unfold in the intimacy of prayer, we
shall not be subject to the disintegrating effects of the outer world. We
shall feel that wonderful inner warmth which fills us with inner blessedness
and can truly be called divine. Through their experience a soul that is
losing itself in externals can be enabled to collect itself. During prayer we
are warmed in the feeling of God; we not only feel the warmth, but we live
intimately within ourselves.
On the other side,
when we approach the things of the outer world, we always find them involved
with what has been called the dark womb of the future. Close observation
shows that in everything we encounter in the outer world there is always a
hint of the future. If we feel fear and anxiety as to what may befall us,
something always thrusts us away. The outer world stands before us like an
impenetrable veil. If we develop the feeling of devoted humbleness towards
whatever may come to us from the future, we find that we are able to meet
everything in the outer world with the confidence and hope that this feeling
engenders. And then we know that in all things the light of wisdom shines
towards us. Failing this, in everything we come up against we meet a darkness
which spreads into our feelings. So it is hope for illumination from the
whole world that comes to us in the prayer of devoted submission.
If in the physical
world we are standing somewhere surrounded by the blackness of night, we may
feel abandoned and pressed in on ourselves. When morning brings the light, we
feel that we are set free, but not as though we were wanting to escape from
ourselves, but as though we could now carry forth into the outer world our
best desires and aspirations. Similarly, we can feel how surrender to the
world, which estranges us from ourselves, is overcome by the warmth of
prayer, which unites us with ourselves. And when we carry this warmth of
prayer into the feeling of humbleness, it becomes a light. And now, when we
go out from ourselves and unite ourselves with the outer world and behold it,
we no longer feel torn apart and estranged by it, but we feel that what is
best in our soul flows out and unites us with the light that shines in on us
from the outer world.
These two modes of
prayer are expressed better in images than in ideas. We can think, for
instance, of the Old Testament story of Jacob and his soul-convulsing contest
in the night.
[ 25 ]
He appears to us as if we ourselves were given over to the
manifold pressures of the world, where at first the soul is lost and cannot
recover itself. When the striving to find ourselves begins, it sets off a
conflict between our higher and our lower ego. Then our feelings surge up and
down; but prayer will help us to work our way through, until at last comes
the moment prefigured in the story of Jacob, where we are told that his
night-long struggle is resolved and is harmonised when the rising sun shines
upon him. That is in fact what prayer can do for the soul.
Seen in this light,
prayer is free from all superstition. For it brings out the best in us and
works directly as a force in the soul. Prayer is thus preparatory to mystical
contemplation, just as mystical contemplation is itself a preparation for
what we know as spiritual research. Our discussion of prayer will have
illustrated something often mentioned here — that we pile error upon
error if we believe that we can find the divine, or God, within ourselves by
mystical means. This mistake was repeatedly made by mystics and even by
ordinary Christians during the Middle Ages. It occurred because the practice
of prayer came to be permeated by egotism, an egotism which impels the soul
to say to itself: I will become more and more perfect and will think of
nothing else but my own perfection. We can hear an echo of this egotistic
desire when a misguided form of theosophy asserts that if only we turn aside
from everything external, we can find God within ourselves.
We have seen that
there are two modes of prayer. One leads to inner warmth; the other, imbued
with the feeling of humbleness towards the future, leads out into the world
and so to illumination and true knowledge. Anyone who looks at prayer in this
way will soon see that the knowledge acquired by ordinary intellectual
methods is unfruitful compared with another kind. Anyone who knows what
prayer is, will be familiar with that withdrawal of the soul into itself,
where it frees itself from the disruptive multiplicity of the world and
collects itself inwardly, raising its thoughts above the present moment and
devoting them to the past and the future. If we are acquainted with this
state, when our whole environment becomes calm and silent, when only the
finest thoughts and feelings of which we are capable are present in the soul,
when perhaps even these vanish and only a fundamental feeling remains,
pointing in two directions, towards the God who announces himself from the
past and towards the God who announces himself from the future — then,
if we have come to live in this feeling, we know that great moments come for
the soul, so that it says to itself: I have turned away from everything that
my clever thinking creates in my consciousness, from everything brought about
by my feelings and perceptions, from all the ideals set up by my will-power
and my education — I have swept all this away. I was devoted to my
highest thoughts and feelings — even these I have now banished and have
kept only the fundamental feeling already mentioned. If we have reached this
stage, we know that in the same way as the wonders of nature meet us when we
look at them with pure eyes, so do new feelings, hitherto unknown to us,
shine into the soul. Impulses of will and ideals strange to us spring up in
the soul, so that from this ground the most fruitful moments
arise.
So it is that prayer in the best sense can imbue us with a wisdom beyond
our immediate capacities; it can give us the possibility of feelings and
perceptions to which we have not yet attained. And if prayer carries our
self-education further, it can endow us with a strength of will to which we
have not yet been able to rise. Certainly, if we are to accomplish all this,
we shall need first to cultivate and cherish the finest feelings and impulses
in our souls. And here we must again call attention to the prayers that have
been given to mankind on the most solemn occasions from the earliest
times.
In my booklet,
The Lord's Prayer,
[ 26 ]
you will find an
account of its contents showing that its seven petitions embrace all the
wisdom of the world. Now you might be inclined to say: We are told in this
booklet that the seven petitions can be understood only by someone who has
come to know the deeper sources of the universe, but obviously the simple
man, when he repeats the prayer, will not be able to fathom these depths. But
it is not necessary that he should. For the Lord's Prayer to come into
being, the all-embracing wisdom of the world had to set down in words what
can be called the deepest secrets of man and the world. Since this is the
content of the Lord's Prayer, it works through its wording, even for
people who are far from understanding its depths. That is indeed the secret
of a true prayer. It has to be drawn from the wisdom of the world, and so it
can be effective even if it is not understood. We can come to understand it
if we rise to the higher stages for which prayer and mysticism are a
preparation. Prayer prepares us for mysticism, mysticism for meditation and
concentration, and from that point we are directed to the real work of
spiritual research.
To say that we must
understand a prayer if it is to have its true effect is simply not true. Who
understands the wisdom of a flower, yet we can all take pleasure in it?
Similarly, if the wisdom of the world has gone into the creation of a prayer,
the prayer can pour its warmth and light into the soul without its secrets
being grasped. However, unless it has been created out of wisdom, it will not
have this power. The depth of wisdom in a prayer is shown by its
effectiveness.
Although a soul can
truly develop itself under the influence of this power, it must also be said
that a true prayer has something to give to all of us, whatever stage of
development we may have reached. The simplest person, who perhaps knows
nothing more than the words of the prayer, may still be open to the influence
of the prayer on his soul, and it is the prayer which can call forth the
power to raise him higher. But, however high a stage we may have reached, we
have never finished with a prayer; it can always raise us to a still higher
level. And the Lord's Prayer is not for speaking only. It can call
forth the mystical frame of mind, and it can be the subject of higher forms
of meditation and concentration. This could be said of many other
prayers.
Since the Middle
Ages, however, something has come to the fore, a kind of egotism, which can
impair the purity of prayer and its accompanying state of mind. If we make
use of prayer with the aim only of withdrawing into ourselves and making
ourselves more perfect — as many Christians did during the Middle Ages
and perhaps still do today — and if we fail to look out at the world
around us with whatever illumination we may have received, then prayer will
succeed only in separating us from the world, and making us feel like
strangers in it. That often happened to those who used prayer in connection
with false asceticism and seclusion. These people wished to be perfect not in
the sense of the rose, which adorns itself
[ 27 ]
in order to add beauty to the
garden, but on their own account, so as to find blessedness within their own
souls.
Anyone who seeks for
God in his soul and refuses to take what he has gained out into the world
will find that his refusal turns back on him in revenge. And in many writings
by saints and mystics who have known only the prayer that gives inner warmth
— even in the writings of the Spanish mystic, Miguel de Molinos
[ 28 ]
— you will come upon remarkable descriptions of all sorts of passions
and urges, fights, temptations and wild desires which the soul experiences
when, it seeks perfection through inward prayer and complete devotion to what
it takes to be its God. If someone tries to find God and to approach the
spiritual world in a one-sided way, if he brings to his prayers only the kind
of devotion that leads to inner warmth, and not the other kind that leads to
illumination, then the other side will take its revenge. If I look back over
the past with feelings of regret and shame and say to myself — there is
something great in me to which I have never allowed full scope, but now I
will let it permeate me and perfect me — then in a certain sense a
feeling of perfection does arise. But the imperfection which remains in the
soul turns into a counter-force and storms out all the more strongly in the
form of temptations and passions. But as soon as the soul, after having
recollected itself in inner warmth and intimate devotion, looks for God in
all the works where he is revealed and strives for illumination, it comes out
of itself, turns away from the narrow, selfish ego, and the storms of passion
are stilled. That is why it is so bad to allow egotism to find its way into
mystical devotion and meditation. If we wish to find God, but only in order
to keep him in our own souls, we show that an unhealthy egotism has crept
into our highest endeavours. Then this egotism will take revenge upon us. We
shall be healed only if, after having found God within us, we pour out into
the world, through our thoughts and feelings, our willing and doing, what we
have inwardly gained.
We are often told
today, especially on the ground of Theosophy wrongly understood — and
warnings against this can never be given too often — that you cannot
find the divine in the outer world, for God dwells within you. You have only
to take the right path into your inner life and you will find God there. I
have even heard it said by someone who liked to flatter his audience: You
have no need to learn or experience anything to do with the great secrets of
the universe; you need only look within yourselves and there you will find
God!
An opposing view to
this, must be made clear before we can approach the truth. A mediaeval
thinker found the right thing to say about inward devotion, which is indeed
justified if kept within its right limits. We must never forget that it is
not untruths that do most harm, for the soul will soon detect them. Much
worse are statements which are true under certain circumstances, but
thoroughly false if they are misapplied. In a certain sense it is true to say
that we have to seek for God within ourselves, but just because this is true,
it is all the more harmful if it is not kept within its bounds. A mediaeval
thinker said: “Who would search everywhere out-of-doors for a tool he
needs when he knows for certain that it is in his house? He would be a fool
if he did so. Equally foolish is someone who searches in the outer world for
an instrument with which to gain knowledge of God when he has it within his
own soul.” Notice the word he uses — tool or instrument
(Werkzeug).
It is not God himself
that one should seek in one's own soul. God is sought by means of an
instrument, and this at least will not be found in the outer world. It must
be sought within the soul — through true prayer, through mystical
devotion, meditation and concentration at various levels. With the aid of
this instrument we must approach the kingdoms of the world. Then we shall
find God everywhere, for he reveals himself in all the kingdoms of the world
and at all stages of existence. Thus we seek in ourselves for the instrument,
and with its aid we shall find God everywhere.
Observations such as
these on the nature of prayer are not popular today. How on earth —
people say — can prayer change anything, whatever we may ask for? The
course of the world follows necessary laws and we cannot alter them, but if
we want to recognise a force, we must look for it where it is. Today we have
sought for the power of prayer in the human soul, and we found that it is
something which can help the soul forward. And anyone who knows that it is
the spirit which works in the world — not an imaginary, abstract spirit
but actual, active spirit — and that the human soul belongs to the
realm of the spirit, will know that not only material forces, following
unalterable laws, are at work in the world; but spiritual beings are also at
work there, although their activities are not normally visible. If we
strengthen our spiritual life through prayer, we need only wait for the
effects; they will certainly come. But the effects of prayer in the outer
world will be sought only by someone who has first recognised the power of
prayer as a reality.
Anyone who does
recognise this might try the following experiment. Let him look back over a
period of ten years during which he scorned prayer, and then over a second
period of ten years during which he recognised its power. If he then compares
the two periods, he will soon see how the course of his life has changed
under the influence of the forces which prayer poured into his soul. Forces
are made evident by their effects. It is easy to deny the existence of forces
if nothing is done to call them forth. How can anyone have the right to deny
the power of prayer if he has never sought to make it effective within him?
Can we suppose that we should know the light if we had never kindled it or
looked for it? We can learn to recognise a force which works in and through
the soul only by making use of it.
I must admit that
the time is not yet ripe for going into the wider effects of prayer, however
unbiased the discussion might be. The idea that a congregational prayer, in
which the forces of all the participants flow together, has a heightened
power and therefore an enhanced strength of reality — that is outside
the grasp of ordinary thinking today. Hence we must be content with what we
have brought before our souls with regard to the inner nature of prayer. And
that is enough, for anyone who understands it will certainly see through many
of the objections to prayer that are so easily advanced nowadays.
What are these
various objections? We are asked, for example, to contrast an active
present-day man who uses his powers to help his fellow human beings with a
man who quietly withdraws into himself and works on the forces of his soul
through prayer — surely we must regard this second man as an idler
compared with the first? You will pardon me if I say, out of a certain
feeling for the knowledge of spiritual science, that another point of view
exists. I will put it in a somewhat exaggerated way, but there are good
grounds for it. Anyone familiar today with the underlying causes of life will
feel that many writers of leading articles in newspapers would be rendering
better service to their fellows if they prayed and worked for the improvement
of their souls, far-fetched as this may sound. Would that more people were
persuaded that to pray is more sensible than writing articles. The same could
be said of many other intellectual occupations.
Moreover, to
understand the whole life of man, an understanding is necessary of the force
that works through prayer, and this comes out with especial clarity if we
look at particular aspects of cultural life. Who can fail to recognise that
prayer, not in its one-sided egotistic sense but in the wider view of it that
we have taken today, is a constituent of art? Certainly, in art we find also
the quite different aspect expressed in comedy, in the humorous approach
which raises itself above what it portrays. But there are also odes and
hymns, which are not far removed from prayer, and even pictorial art shows
examples of what could be called “prayers in paint.” And who
would deny that in a great majestic cathedral we have something like a prayer
expressed in stone and reaching heavenwards?
If we are able to
grasp all this in the context of life, we shall recognise that prayer, seen
in accordance with its true nature, is one of the things that lead mankind
out of the finite and the transient to the eternal. This was felt especially
by those who found the way from prayer to mysticism, as did Angelus Silesius,
mentioned today and in the previous lecture. He felt that he owed the inner
truth and glorious beauty, the warm intimacy and shining clearness of his
mystical thoughts — as shown for example in “The Cherubinean
Traveller” — to his self-training in prayer, which had worked so
powerfully on his soul. And what is it, fundamentally, that permeates and
illuminates all mystics such as he? What is it but the feeling of eternity
for which prayer has prepared them? Everyone who prays can have some
intimation of this feeling, if through prayer he attains to true inner rest
and inwardness, and then to liberation from himself. It is this intimation
which allows us to look beyond the passing moment to eternity, and links
past, present and future together in our souls. When we turn in prayer to
those aspects of life where we seek for God, then — whether we are
aware of it or not — the feelings, thoughts and words which enter into
our praying will be permeated by the feeling for eternity which is expressed
by Angelus Silesius in lines with which we may well conclude today. They can
bring to every true prayer, even if unconsciously, something like a divine
aroma and sweetness:
Forsaking
time, I am myself eternity,
Then I am one with God, God one with me.
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