The Rudolf Steiner Archive

2. Knowledge and Immortality

[ 1 ] Ladies and gentlemen! When people hear the word “knowledge,” they associate it with something that undoubtedly evokes in them the feeling that it is something which enters into life purposefully and in connection with the whole of human destiny. And closely linked to this feeling is the sense that, through the acquisition of knowledge, a person secures a position within their own existence and within the entire course of human development that corresponds to their true purpose and goals.

[ 2 ] Now, when it comes to fields of knowledge related to the study of nature—and perhaps also to the study of certain aspects of human life—it quickly becomes apparent that they provide us with laws, that they reveal to us certain forces of nature or other forces through which we are enabled to intervene in life. We need only consider how knowledge of nature, in a certain sense, makes us masters of the forces of nature, and how the natural laws we discover enable us to equip ourselves with tools and devices that enhance life and advance humanity’s existence. And when we allow even the most remote fields of knowledge to enter our minds—we will sense, somewhere, the connection between the laws we acquire through knowledge, and the activities through which we enrich our lives in a useful, purposeful way—so that, in the case of such knowledge that is directly translated into our actions and deeds, we readily recognize that it does not merely satisfy our curiosity, nor does it merely correspond to a certain impulse to act, but rather that it springs from the much higher impulse to shape life and existence ever more perfectly. Thus, we feel that these insights have a certain mission, a purpose in our lives.

[ 3 ] But everyone knows that there are other areas of knowledge in which—when one thinks of this mission—what we might call human dignity, human destiny, humanity, and human fulfillment come to the fore in the human soul to an even greater degree. But these are insights that—in the manner just described—are not directly applicable to the purposes and goals of practical life. These are insights that people are said to acquire for their own sake. Human beings feel that they have an impulse to explore and understand the mysteries of existence; they feel that knowledge is simply enlightening. It is something that satisfies the soul even when it cannot immediately apply this knowledge—when it cannot, so to speak, forge it into external instruments and tools, or into actions of daily life connected with the external goals of humanity.

[ 4 ] Knowledge for its own sake, knowledge that springs from a deep need of the human soul and is meant to satisfy the human being through itself—this is the kind of knowledge that human beings seek, and they seek it all the more as the inner needs of their souls develop more deeply. He may seek it less when he feels caught up in a life that drifts from event to event, from sensation to sensation, from task to task in everyday life. He may seek it less when life distracts him and keeps him constantly occupied with its external demands. But especially in those moments when a person—perhaps not even by his own will, but through those events and experiences that tear us away from everyday life—can be still within himself, that is when the urge for such other insights awakens. These may be times when a person suffers great losses in life, moments when what is most dear to them is snatched away, when they feel they must watch their hopes for life come to naught. These are moments when a longing awakens in the soul that can never be satisfied by external life. And it is these people, who have this need for insight, who gradually come to deepen their inner life more and more. Such people then begin to realize—at first through mere feeling, through intuition—that insights far removed from the everyday can act as a source of courage and strength when a person grows weak; indeed, that such insights can act as a balm when the soul is desolate and filled with pain. Indeed, the soul can then develop to a point where it feels that it would not want to live without such insight, that existence seems worthless and desolate without it.

[ 5 ] When one reflects on such an experience of the human soul, the following thought may occur: If, even with regard to everyday insights—for example, insights into nature or into the laws of human coexistence or the like—one feels that they fulfill their purpose only when they not only satisfy the curiosity of our minds but also spur on the strength of our hands and prompt us to put our hands to work in our earthly existence, then one might ask: To what human tasks, to what goals, do the other kinds of knowledge relate—the ones we so easily assume exist for their own sake and find no immediate practical application? Do such insights have no role at all in intervening in human life and inspiring something that leads to deeds and actions? That is the great question one can ask about knowledge and its purpose in life.

[ 6 ] Once one realizes how the soul, in its state of dissatisfaction with external existence, feels the need for knowledge—that is, once one gains a certain insight into the fact that this intimate knowledge may become necessary for the innermost essence of our soul— then one will begin to reflect that such knowledge, which transcends immediate external life, must be connected to the highest qualities, to the highest aspirations of our humanity—in other words, to the very essence of the human being. And one will soon realize that one must seek the connection between what humanity calls knowledge in the higher sense and the very essence of the human being. But then, having gained such insight, one will have to orient one’s search for knowledge accordingly. One will say to oneself: You must organize your search in such a way that it takes into account the deepest, innermost essence of the human being. Anyone who believes that all existence is limited solely to the external sensory world, that all science is limited to the insights we gain through the rational analysis of external sensory phenomena—in short, anyone who believes that the observation of external life and science directed toward external existence can be the sole science—will be ill-equipped to answer the question just raised.

[ 7 ] Another science offers us the possibility of gradually answering this question—the so-called spiritual science or “theosophy”—if one wishes to use this much-abused and much-misunderstood term—the science that relates to the spiritual, to that which transcends the sensory world; it devotes itself to the research that alone can lead us to the essence of the human being. With the help of this science, one can sense that the innermost essence of the human being originates from the spirit and that what is best within us—the essence that truly governs us—is spiritual. Only spiritual science can explore this innermost essence of ours, and so one can also hope that through this spiritual science one will gain insight into the true nature of the human being and that in this way one will discover the mysterious foundation that otherwise manifests itself in life only through a vague feeling that says: I want a kind of knowledge that gives me something that nothing else can give me.

[ 8 ] The spiritual science does, however, follow different methods and seeks different paths than conventional external science, but in our time there is still little inclination to see in it anything other than the eccentric or sad aberrations of individual people. In many circles, people are not yet aware that spiritual science works with the same rigorous methods of knowledge as the natural sciences; that it applies the same rigorous methods of knowledge, but only to a different realm—not to the realm of external natural life, but to spiritual life. In the course of this lecture, we will be able to point out a number of things that lead people into the spiritual worlds and the methods through which a person gains insight into the other, the supersensible world. But let us take our starting point from everyday life. By rising rationally from everyday life—and thus also from mere reason—one can indeed gain a kind of inkling of the possibility of attaining knowledge of the spiritual world.

[ 9 ] How does this manifest itself in a human being’s outer life? Let us consider the human being in terms of four significant aspects, two of which we are usually unaware of because we experience them out of habit. But there are two other things—one probing, the other shattering—that intervene in every life. These four things are called waking and sleeping, life and death. In these four words lies, in essence, the entire mystery of human life. Whoever is able to gain satisfactory insight will see that the darkness of life becomes clear and luminous. Waking and sleeping alternate in our daily lives. From the moment we wake until we fall asleep, impressions rise and fall within our soul, which we owe to our mind. We know that during sleep we shut ourselves off from pleasure and pain, from instinct and desire. Thus we see our life unfold from waking until we fall asleep. Then, as we fall asleep, we see all the experiences and activities of the soul descend into an indefinite darkness. All perceptions and ideas sink away. We are as if overcome by a faint; we cease to be in contact with the outside world. There we feel ourselves transported from the conscious to the unconscious.

[ 10 ] What actually happens when a person experiences that moment of falling asleep? Only a belief that does not adhere to the laws of logic could hold that the entire world, which sinks into darkness in the evening, is recreated anew in the morning—that is, that everything a person has left behind in the physical world is recreated anew. Everyone must ask themselves this question: Where, exactly, is that which is thought and contemplated during waking hours—that which is experienced as pleasure, suffering, and pain, and that which feels the inner strength to act—where is that? It is not difficult to see that what we might call the true inner self of a human being—what we feel as an inner drive—cannot simply have vanished [upon falling asleep] and must be reborn [upon waking]. It is therefore also not difficult to grasp what the spiritual researcher must conclude from his investigations. He says: What remains in bed—this person—is not the whole person. This person who sleeps at night has released from within what constitutes the innermost essence during the day. —How is it that one cannot see or observe what goes out? Everyone can answer this for themselves: One can observe it just as little as a blind person can observe colors. Anyone who claims that there is nothing that emerges from the body and exists outside the body at night is just like the blind person who says: “Oh, what are you talking about with your foolish fantasies of red and blue colors? They don’t exist! What one does not perceive does not exist.”

[ 11 ] Certainly, only spiritual science can explore what lies beyond the reach of the senses. But everyday consciousness sometimes makes a certain start in this direction, albeit only in certain abnormal, exceptional states of human life. There are experiences that virtually every person could have—and does have more often than they realize—but which last only briefly and are therefore unnoticed by most people because external impressions have a numbing effect on the soul. A certain amount of practice and inner peace of mind, as well as special training in spiritual research, are required if a person is to have such moments. There are people who have such moments and who describe how, at the moment of falling asleep, they can experience something that is not usually experienced. Just as chemists describe a chemical process, observers in this field describe what they experience at the moment of falling asleep.

[ 12 ] They experience, as it were, a kind of alienation from everything they do in their sensory life. They experience the inability to move their hands; they feel the inability to move their tongue; they feel how their senses gradually lose the ability to interact with the outside world. And then the person feels, in a particularly painful way—as if with severe self-reproach—all the mistakes and errors they themselves have committed. And then comes the moment when a kind of experience sets in that is free from the necessity of external sensory perceptions, yet is not unconscious; rather, it feels that the soul is in the [spiritual] world: This is a subjective feeling. There is a stronger light and greater clarity than can ever exist in external sensory life. A blissful moment of feeling free sets in. Then, for those who are ordinary observers, something follows that feels like a rapid twitch, accompanied by the awareness: Now that which coursed through the hands and feet during the day to work, that which lived in the eyes, that which lived in the brain—now it has torn itself away from the outer physical body. But then what one might call a transition into unconsciousness occurs. A brief, intense feeling sets in, accompanied by the wish: Oh, if only this moment could last forever!

[ 13 ] These are experiences that are just as much a part of reality as any others. One must not dismiss them by saying that such experiences are limited to certain individuals who undergo a particular subjective ecstasy in their souls because they have an abnormal inner life. The only way to refute these doubts is to say: Yes, but spiritual science knows—based on its own resources and methods—that it is correct when it says: I cannot prove this; only certain people experience it. You, too, can experience it yourself if you methodically attempt to cultivate inner balance in your soul through entirely normal means of spiritual development. — One would not, however, get very far if one could cite only such rarities of human perceptual ability. The only thing that can lead to research and science in this field is methodical training, through which what truly enables a person to consciously experience falling asleep—almost as if by chance—can actually occur. If such a science is to exist, it must be possible not only to rely on such abnormal rarities but also to truly experience—systematically and with the soul’s full consciousness—that which occurs almost as if by chance. That is to say, it must be possible to observe, perceive, and explore this emergence of the human being’s real inner essence by preventing the person—precisely when they wish to perceive what is disembodied—from being rendered unable to observe it because they are unconscious.

[ 14 ] How, then, is it possible to become acquainted with what a person otherwise experiences only unconsciously—the spiritual world in which he finds himself [during sleep]? If this could be attained at a higher level—which is comparable to [the experience] of a person born blind who regains sight through surgery—if it were true that there are powers within the soul that cannot manifest in the physical body but lie dormant within the human being and can be brought forth through certain methods — self-discipline and training of the soul — can be brought to the surface, then a moment of higher, spiritual insight might arise, and then it might be that a person could experience what would lead them to say: “I know that there is a spiritual world.”

[ 15 ] This possibility exists if a person continues to do what we have emphasized as a natural prerequisite: radiating peace and inner balance into the soul. And if we do more and more within our soul to ensure that it can also have experiences that it does not receive through external impressions, then we lead the soul to perceive on its own. I can only describe everything briefly here, but in my essays “How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?” and in my book *An Outline of Esoteric Science*, you will find a more detailed discussion of this. It is certainly no fairy tale; rather, it can be confirmed by those who have achieved it: that the human soul is capable of consciously experiencing the moment of falling asleep in the midst of everyday life. This can be described as follows: We can bring about that moment when we consciously and deliberately suppress external impressions, when we use our powers of perception to withdraw from what affects us as light, color, and sound; as warmth and cold; and even as pressure and impact, as pain and joy. — So if we are able, through a strong discipline of the will, to bring all external impressions to a standstill, then we are also able to consciously empty our soul just as we empty it when we sink into the unconsciousness of sleep. It is true that whoever arouses the strong will to consciously shut out external impressions is able to consciously transition into a state where, although devoid of the expression of the soul, they are nevertheless inwardly permeated and interwoven with what we might call inner activity—an inner awareness that we are something and that we are capable of doing something. However, what has been emphasized so far regarding such efforts leads to having an empty soul—one that is not unconscious, but whose consciousness is contracted into the fundamental sensation: You are here, but you have nothing within you; you have yourself, but there is nothing within you.

[ 16 ] A second condition is necessary if a person wishes to penetrate the spiritual worlds. It is necessary that his soul no longer remain empty. If nothing could penetrate his soul, then there would be no means whatsoever that could ever convince a person, in a scientific sense, of the existence of a spiritual world. If, in such an experiment—which excludes external impressions—the soul were to remain completely empty, that would be actual proof that the external sensory world is the be-all and end-all of all existence. But anyone who wishes to become a spiritual researcher continues this work of self-discipline and the cultivation of their soul; they now attempt, through strong will, to evoke such images that can be called symbolic—images that do not represent external things but possess other qualities. When a person devotes himself to meditation and contemplation, he will feel and experience that these images evoke feelings and sensations from the depths of his soul just as external impressions evoke pleasure and displeasure.

[ 17 ] So when a person is centered within themselves, when they allow strong, powerful images to live within their soul—images that have no external meaning—then, with sufficient patience—sometimes it takes years—they can experience through direct experience that something is entering their soul, something they know with certainty is real. Then they begin to experience another, higher world; then they enter the supersensible world. And with his observation, he goes farther and farther. When he falls asleep, he can observe what now withdraws from the physical body and enters into the spiritual world and reality, and what—from the moment of falling asleep until waking—is surrounded by the source of humanity’s original home—he is surrounded by the spiritual world. Then, through his disciplined, methodical exploration, the realization springs forth from his soul that, upon falling asleep, the human being withdraws with his true inner being from his outer self, that he continues to live in the spiritual world, and that upon waking he once again descends into his outer physical body.

[ 18 ] If these facts are presented to us by spiritual researchers in the same way that a chemical or physical truth is presented, we may ask: Is there not something in life that makes the matter clearer and more evident to us? Let us examine life to see whether it confirms what the spiritual researcher says. Certainly, the majority of people today have the right to say: Well, we are not spiritual researchers; there may be some who can claim such things, but what is said would still have to be confirmed in life. Let us therefore examine life, assuming that something might help to confirm the researcher’s findings.

[ 19 ] We see life unfolding in such a way that a person enters into existence through birth and leaves existence through death. We see life alternating between sleeping and waking. So we ask: Does it have an inner meaning, a meaningful significance, that a person is always alternating between waking and sleeping? — Well, ordinary phenomena of everyday life might draw a person’s attention to the fact that there must be a meaning to this. I do not take the hypotheses of natural science into account, but neither am I at odds with natural science. What is to be derived from spiritual science is in perfect harmony with the facts of the most modern natural science. The spiritual researcher could always demonstrate this. One must simply not confuse scientific opinions with scientific facts. Opinions are often in stark contradiction to the facts. Unfortunately, there is not enough time today to go into this in more detail. A phenomenon that can point to the significance of sleep presents itself clearly to us every day: this is the phenomenon of fatigue. A person grows weary and, in that weariness, feels their strength ebbing away. Upon waking, they feel, as it were, the forces being drawn in and flowing into them—forces that enable them, from the moment of waking until they fall asleep, to carry on with life. A person could never replace what they have lost through weariness if they were to remain solely in their physical body. Only by entering another world in the evening—the primal home of their very being—can human beings draw from this primal home the forces that they pour into their physical body upon waking in the morning, thereby restoring everything they expended in the previous day. The scientific hypothesis regarding fatigue will not be addressed here. It is spiritual forces alone that we must infuse into ourselves if we are to compensate for what we lose in the physical world, the world of the senses. We can never find these forces within the sensory world itself. A person can learn, to their detriment, that they can never draw these forces from the sensory world when they realize what it means when sleep fails to have a restorative effect. We therefore need sleep to immerse ourselves in the spiritual reservoirs from which we draw the forces that enable us to live.

[ 20 ] We have seen what a person brings with them upon waking from sleep. But what do they take with them into sleep? It is those realities that unfold between birth and death and that we encompass in the statement: We develop into ever-new states, into ever-changing abilities. — What enables us, in later stages of life, to acquire other, new abilities? Let’s take the fact that we can write, that we can express our thoughts through writing. Let’s recall how we acquired this ability—for example, when we first put pen to paper. It would be terrible if everything that was required in terms of practice remained in our consciousness. We have a whole series of experiences behind us that are no longer present in our consciousness, except in the sense that they have, as a result, enabled us to write. These experiences have poured into the ability to write. What we have experienced in the physical world has—taken together—formed the ability that now wells up from within. What has happened here?

[ 21 ] This can be gauged by a simple phenomenon observed in those who, for professional reasons, need to memorize a great deal. Everyone will notice that they have great difficulty learning when they try to cram and plow through material nonstop, one thing after another. But things will go better if there is an interruption in the form of healthy sleep; this will have a restorative effect and will expand upon what we have learned and what we have previously acquired. In an activity as closely connected to our soul as memorization, one can see how significantly the state of sleep intervenes. Anyone who observes this will no longer be able to doubt what the spiritual researcher says. During sleep, what has been experienced during the day is transformed into ability and strength. The spiritual researcher shows us how this is the case in all areas of life. We would not learn to write if we were not able to repeatedly draw the experiences of learning to write into ourselves, step back from them, and—during the state between falling asleep and waking up—weave them into skills. In their primal home, human beings find the powers to transform life’s experiences into skills, to weave them together.

[ 22 ] We see that human beings do indeed bring something from everyday life into their sleep. They bring in what they have acquired in the sensory world so that they can exercise their powers and work fruitfully, for it is there that experiences are woven into abilities. Today, little is known about such things. But there were times in human development when the leaders of humanity knew such secrets and expressed them in works of poetry that are not merely everyday poetry, but which prove their validity by their enduring impact over millennia. In art that is truly worthy of the name, the deepest, truest insight is at work.

[ 23 ] Let us suppose that a poet, knowing that the experiences of physical life are transformed into abilities during sleep, wanted to express how someone might prevent the soul from acquiring a certain ability or a certain power. For example, he might have wanted to show how one could prevent the development of the ability to love. He would describe a person who ensures that what the external experiences of the day send into sleep—and what is woven together during the night—is once again separated and dissolved. Homer sought to provide such a depiction when he showed how Penelope, Odysseus’s wife, was surrounded by suitors who did everything they could to make her develop the capacity to love them. She, however, prevented this by unraveling at night what had been woven during the day.

[ 24 ] I am well aware that a superficial contemporary aesthetic, which believes it can grasp all the mysteries of art through a certain obvious understanding, will regard this as the pinnacle of interpretation. But that is not what matters; rather, it is something else: Anyone who delves into the human spirit will recognize that the great artists have embedded great mysteries in their works of art and that these works have had an impact on the souls and hearts of people from one era to the next. Let this serve as an illustration of what has been said about the significance of waking and sleeping.

[ 25 ] We must therefore say that a person makes progress in life when he is able, through sleep, to develop within himself abilities that he did not previously possess and that he can now utilize in the sensory world in order to act meaningfully and spiritually; the person is thus endowed with new abilities for his activities. These experiences are transformed through the person’s ability to enter the soul’s spiritual homeland, which is accessed through the gateway of sleep. All spiritual perfection depends on the person’s ability to transform the experiences of the sensory world into abilities through their connection with the spiritual world, so that they can then infuse these experiences into their outer self in the morning.

[ 26 ] Everything that has been described so far naturally has its limits. We can keep these limits in mind when we think of certain predispositions and characteristics that a person brings into existence at birth in connection with their external physicality and corporeality. With regard to certain powers connected to our innermost being, we can perfect ourselves through what we experience. However, this is limited by the nature of our body. And no matter how great the abilities we acquire through our experiences—we cannot transform these experiences if we encounter limitations in our outer physicality, for it is essential that the abilities the soul develops as powers be connected to the entire configuration of the body. After all, the body is always the same when we wake up in the morning. We can only express the abilities that relate to our physical form. We can influence these to a certain degree.

[ 27 ] You can understand this if you consider what becomes apparent when you observe a person for ten years and follow how he works insights [into his physical being] over the course of those ten years. Within this lies everything that can be called inner battles and victories, and at times also inner decline or downfall. In someone who, for example, has perfected this insight within themselves over the course of ten years, one can clearly see how such insight—how such a transformation of the soul—penetrates right down into the outer physical body, how it finds expression in their physiognomy and in their gaze, and how, in fact, a person—where the soul so strongly permeates the physical body—is able to incorporate this into their very being. But when one sees that someone has had the opportunity to have experiences in the field of music, [and believes] that through these experiences he could simply be enabled to make progress not only in terms of musical feeling but also in musical understanding and musical activity, then one must say, it is impossible for them to pour this ability from those experiences into their body if they have an unmusical constitution of the ear. There, in the fine structure of the organs of our outer physicality, you see the limit that has been set for us; it exists because we are dependent on descending into the same body every morning.

[ 28 ] The question must be raised: Are such experiences—which, when transformed into abilities, are limited by the physical body—without significance for human life and development? We cannot answer this question if we remain confined to the span of life between birth and death. We can answer it only if, with the profound insights of spiritual science, we venture beyond the mysterious gateway through which we pass at death. And just as we have tried, through spiritual science, to make it plausible that the human being [in sleep] does not enter a nothingness of unconsciousness but rather a spiritual world, so we can ask: What happens to the human being when he passes through the gate of death and does not return to his physical body? External science will not be able to follow him; spiritual science, however, can. It arrives at a lawful connection that still strikes so many people today as fantasy, folly, or perhaps even madness: the law of reincarnation, of repeated earthly lives—which is nothing other than the development of the insight that the spiritual-soul aspect can come only from the spiritual-soul aspect.

[ 29 ] Just a few centuries ago, learned researchers claimed that earthworms and fish could arise from river mud. With the same certainty, it was taught even earlier, in the 6th and 7th centuries, that new life sprang from decaying matter. If a horse carcass were beaten to a pulp, the matter would be capable of producing bees, and if the same were done with an ox carcass, it would be capable of producing hornets and wasps. It was not until the 17th century that Francesco Redi taught that living things can arise only from living things. And this means nothing other than: If someone claims that living beings arise from river mud, this claim can only be based on inaccurate observation. But one must also say: It is likewise based solely on inaccurate observation when we see a human being come into existence through birth and believe that he acquires all his characteristics and traits from his ancestors. Careful observation reveals that the soul-spiritual can only originate from another soul-spiritual entity that struggles to come into being, draws in the substances and vital forces of its surroundings, and thereby unfolds. Thus, the spiritual-soul aspect comes from another spiritual-soul aspect and has nothing to do with the inherited physical characteristics. So when a child enters into existence, one must trace its spiritual-soul aspect back to another spiritual-soul aspect. It has nothing to do with the ancestral line. The child will inherit facial features and so on from its father and mother. But in the same way, the child’s spiritual-soul nature leads us back to an earlier spiritual-soul nature, for the child’s spiritual-soul nature does not lead us to the characteristics of the ancestors. Thus, spiritual science leads us back to our own earlier earthly life.

[ 30 ] So we are talking about repeated earthly lives. This present life is the repetition of countless previous lives and is a prerequisite for the future. This law of repeated earthly lives plays the same role today as Redi’s law did in the 17th century. Back then, Redi narrowly escaped the fate of Giordano Bruno. Today, anyone who speaks of the law of reincarnation is considered just as much of a heretic as Redi was back then to those who wanted to cling to the old ways. Back then, burning heretics was the norm. Today, it is fashionable to condemn those who teach new laws as fools and dreamers. But the law of repeated earthly lives will fare just as Redi’s law did. A time will come when people will not even be able to comprehend how anyone could ever have believed that a human being inherited his abilities solely from his ancestors. Goethe says of himself:

From my father I got my build,
A serious approach to life,
From my mother, her cheerful nature,
And a love of storytelling.
[...]
What, then, about this little fellow
Can truly be called original?

[ 31 ] Try to determine what can be called innate and what he has acquired through his lineage, in order to identify the qualities that make him significant to humanity.

[ 32 ] Thus we see that we have the prospect of a law that seeks to become an integral part of human culture and human education—a law that one might still describe as fantastical today, but of which one will later say: It is inconceivable how people could ever have believed anything other than that the development of humanity proceeds in accordance with this law. If we view life in this way, then we can ask: What do we do with the experiences that we cannot transform into abilities within the limits of our physicality? What do we do if, in life, we wanted to acquire musical abilities through musical experiences but encountered limitations due to a lack of musical ear? When we pass through death, we shed the body; we then live in a purely spiritual world, where we now spend the entire time between death and a new birth cultivating the preparation necessary to bring entirely different, higher abilities into life through the new birth. Now we have the opportunity to build a new body for ourselves, to collaborate in and actively shape our new physical form. Then, with a view to the new birth, we must now make provisions for this shaping so that we can transform into abilities in the new life what was neglected in the previous life, and so that we can transform what we cannot use for our own perfection into ever higher forms through changing states. Thus we truly progress from life to life. Even if we may suffer setbacks due to other influences, life as a whole is nevertheless ascending, and what we utilize in later lifetimes is productive, creative, and edifying for our being.

[ 33 ] We might ask: What are the most important, most meaningful abilities a person can acquire? In doing so, we look to the lives of those individuals who stand out more clearly to humanity than others. Let us consider the works of a great artist, such as Raphael or Michelangelo. Such works arose through interaction with the external world. It is the triumph over the material that speaks to us from the walls, uplifts our souls, and brings satisfaction. But then we turn our attention to other facts, for example, Leonardo’s painting *The Last Supper*. Goethe saw it in all its beauty during his youth; now it is destroyed. When we consider this, a thought will surely come to mind that is undoubtedly true: everything that great minds have conjured into such works is doomed to perish, condemned by fate to fade away. And a time will come when all these works will be ground to dust. But if everything is doomed to perish and will vanish, will nothing be preserved for eternity of what once reigned on earth?

[ 34 ] We need only realize that Raphael and Michelangelo became different people after they had conjured up these works. Not only does something come into being that is communicated to the outside world, but something also enters the human soul. When we work in the outer world, something connects with the soul and transforms it. What is transformed is connected to this soul, and if we truly penetrate the principles of reincarnation inwardly, then we say to ourselves: Let the works that Raphael conjured into the physical world disappear—the ability remains and will kindle new abilities in a new existence, and these will lead human beings ever further, from stage to stage. Thus we see that the fruit of our labor extends through various incarnations. Even if our outer work disappears—that which connects it to the soul will continue to live on with that soul. The souls will preserve the fruits of their creations. The creations will perish, but the fruits of these creations will live on in the souls. But what are the deepest, most intimate abilities? They are those that enable human beings to conjure up what delights millions of souls and can be translated into works of art and life. Such abilities are connected to the outer aspects of our lives.

[ 35 ] But there is something in human life that is interwoven with the inner essence of our soul; there is something that we know affects us differently than what one might call an impulse or drive—for my part, the drive from which Raphael painted his pictures. Instincts are at work within us, but we sense that instincts also possess something that can be described as talent. Instincts are changeable; for human beings, they are something indefinite, something in which the person is not fully present. No one can become a painter unless they have acquired special abilities. One thing, however, cannot be acquired—it is something that springs forth as an impulse from our deepest, innermost being. This impulse cannot, therefore, be limited to our external realization of it; rather, it must be drawn from the spiritual realm itself, and that is the impulse toward knowledge—an impulse that lives [deepest within] us. When the soul wishes to act [in the world], we need external materials; for what we call the impulse toward knowledge, we need only life itself. And this impulse alone can spur us on to develop that power of thought which allows us to penetrate the world of imagination and thought and to unite its mysteries with our very being. It is here that we sense the transition between thinking and imagining on the one hand, and cognition on the other.

[ 36 ] The person who believes that he can attain knowledge through mere thought is greatly mistaken. Only those who fill their concepts with content that is not found in the external world will come to know what lies behind the external world. What one has acquired in life becomes connected with the innermost self; it is of the same nature as the innermost essence of our self. The spirit [in the world] is of the same nature as the spirit within ourselves; thus the spirit out there in the world connects with the spiritual essence we carry within us. In this way, we derive the highest benefit from what we can assimilate in our waking life. Insight is the human activity through which we derive the highest benefits from our experiences; it is that human activity which, in life, is transformed into abilities—though we encounter limit after limit in expressing them outwardly in life. But insight enables us to carry these abilities across through death [into the spiritual world]. And in death, because insight is a central spiritual ability, it not only provides the certainty that we carry the fruits of this present life over into ever-renewed perfections, but it also provides the certainty that we acquire abilities that last as long as the spirit itself—abilities that must last that long because they share the same characteristics as the spirit. Through knowledge, we unite with the spirit, and from this union arises not only the certainty of recognizing immortality but also the power to establish immortality—to establish it within ourselves—so that, through knowledge, we acquire the power to carry our essential core through the incarnations. Thus, the acquisition of the powers we regard as immortal is, in the innermost sense, connected with what we call knowledge. It is the activity between birth and death that grants us, precisely beyond death, the immortality of our most individual being, our “I,” for it is this most individual being that must acquire knowledge through its innermost, self-chosen impulse.

[ 37 ] For human beings, knowledge and immortality are intrinsically linked. It is true what spiritual researchers have handed down from time to time: Human beings have a life that flows into eternity, but only through all the [forces] that have been instilled in them [through life in the] material world. — It is true what the spiritual researchers say: Nowhere out there in space can you find anything that can serve as a guarantee of this immortality. Only and exclusively when you penetrate, through knowledge, to that which lives within you as the center, as the spirit, do you gain within yourself the intimate connection between what you strive for in the noblest sense and the knowledge that works within you to bring about the ever-continuing elevation of your being. — Thus we see in knowledge that it not only satisfies curiosity, but that it works upon our soul, that it transforms the soul just as external knowledge transforms the forces of nature. Knowledge is precisely what makes true what spiritual research conveys to us in the following words:

Beings follow one another in the vastness of space,
Beings follow one another in the flow of time.
If you wish to break free from the realm of transience
And enter the realm of the Eternal,
Then make a covenant with this knowledge:
For only thus will you find the Eternal
Within yourself, the Eternal beyond yourself
Beyond all expanses of space,
Beyond all the flow of time.