The Rudolf Steiner Archive

8. Human Beings and Their Relationship to the Supernatural Worlds

[ 1 ] When a Greek philosopher was asked about the purpose of philosophy, he replied [as follows]: Suppose there is a fair. Some people have various items for sale; alongside them are people looking at everything; [diverse interests, intertwining]—that is life at the fair. The task of philosophers—who look at everything without participating in the fair themselves—is not the least noble. But at times, the mere investigation of things might not seem useful; one might feel pangs of conscience regarding such knowledge—knowledge for knowledge’s sake. [Is it really the noblest task to play the role of a “gawker”? Does life justify knowledge for knowledge’s sake?] Such a matter seems to concern very few. But it is a matter of universal human significance. Every person feels the urge to know something [about the things of life] without regard to the principle of utility. Why should a person, living as they do, have anything beyond mere knowledge? [This is a question that has been asked throughout the ages.] There is a higher, [supernatural] world [underlying the reality of the external world], and human beings have certain connections to this world, which becomes recognizable to them when they elevate themselves to it—something made possible through religious faith. The religious need, the longing, is no less strong now than it was in the past. But this world in which one believes can also be explored through knowledge. [There are, therefore, no limits to knowledge.] The prejudice that one can merely believe in it is no longer justified. Other prejudices are found among those who think monistically; [they believe that human knowledge can never penetrate these worlds and must say nothing about them]. But human beings must humbly acknowledge that a supernatural world exists. Part of this is the subject of our evening reflection today: [to illustrate the relationship between human beings and the supersensible world].

[ 2 ] The outside world approaches human beings from two directions. First, through sensory perception; second, when a person tries to look inward: suffering, joys, instincts, delight, and so on. In everyday life, this is often much closer to us than the outside world. Life compels us to look at it. But upon reflection, it becomes clear that we face enormous obstacles on both sides. There is, as it were, a boundary of forms and colors in the external world; but we can reason our way past it. We come up against a wall when we direct our observations outward into the world; we find ourselves in a difficult position when observing the external world. For it is difficult to listen in on ourselves during this observation. It is precisely then that we are hindered from separating ourselves from the outside world. We merge with the outside; we can no longer distinguish between the external and the internal—for example, during a beautiful sunrise. It is hopeless to try to separate: This is us, and that is the outside world. Or when we feel compassion for someone—[all our spiritual energy is drawn into it]—or when we feel devotion or indifference toward others. We know that something springs up from the depths of the soul, but it is hopeless to try to separate our inner thoughts from the outside world, [from what presents itself from the outside and the supernatural within].

[ 3 ] Within ourselves, objective insight into our own nature is difficult—even much more difficult. Self-love is a constant obstacle. In one respect, we are a good person; in another, a bad one. Self-satisfaction stands before us like a second wall, preventing us from putting it this way: “This is the kind of person we are.” Semi-conscious states show us very clearly where we end up if we do not control ourselves from the outside world—[into the world of dreams]. It is a regular occurrence when falling asleep; dream images should be judged impartially. This is characteristic: Someone dreams that they are with several people; these people have various, very specific relationships with them, for example, hostile ones. But the dreamer does not picture them as people, but as a little dog that barks, and the barking turns into bickering. The little dog says something like: “Oh, it was a misunderstanding; everything is fine again.”

[ 4 ] That is when a person loses their logical nature. What prevails when one imagines a person as a little dog? One is liberated from the control of the outside world. One’s state of mind transforms [into a corresponding image] depending on how—[the unloved person]—lives in one’s mind. This is the true law, [the characteristic] of the dream world. People imagine themselves to be painters. That would be appealing to the person in question. Every imagination is subject to a mood of the will. What prevails in the dream is our own will, our self-love; that is the determining principle. In the waking state, this self-will must be subject to control; [after all, this must be broken. Our entire organization depends on how our will functions in external life.]

[ 5 ] [Let’s consider fatigue.] Fatigue—what is it, and why does it occur? It is not the muscles, [nor] the organs that grow weary. If the heart muscle had to rest, things would be in a bad state for humans. They do not tire, nor do we tire when we let our thoughts wander. [Everything that arises from the human constitution does not tire.] But when thinking about a math problem or something like that, we do tire; even when a muscle is activated not from within, but by the person’s conscious will. The—unconscious—will, the force that sets the heart, lungs, diaphragm, and so on in motion, does not tire when the impulse comes from within; only when the individual will, self-love, and the individual life are at work do they interfere disruptively with the organism. These three wage a constant struggle against the rest of the world; they must conform to the general world order—and yet fight against it. Self-will [self-love] prevents us from self-knowledge; self-will must be broken in order to discover what it truly is. If a person could look into their own inner being, they could discover the spiritual-soul aspect. Dreams show us how we build ourselves up through self-will. [In the waking state, we are fused with the outside world. Submitting to self-will leads to fatigue]—fatigue is a constant rebellion against the organism’s activity.

[ 6 ] The relationship between the human soul and the outside world must be addressed elsewhere. [A saying by Goethe goes:

When the healthy nature of human beings functions as a whole, when they feel at home in the world as part of a great, beautiful, dignified, and valuable whole, when harmonious contentment grants them pure, unbridled delight—then the universe, if it could perceive itself, would rejoice at having reached its goal and marvel at the pinnacle of its own becoming and being. For what is the purpose of all the effort expended by suns and planets and moons, by stars and the Milky Way, by comets and nebulae, by worlds that have come into being and those yet to come, if not ultimately to allow a happy human being to rejoice, unaware of his own existence?]

[ 7 ] How can one discover what lives within if one cannot detach oneself from the outside world? It becomes possible when a person goes beyond the ordinary, [rises above their immediate surroundings], when a person devotes themselves to contemplating how they came to be, when a person reflects on themselves, on the “I,” the enduring element amid change. But one must feel a pang of conscience when one considers that the “I” is repeatedly obliterated. Fichte, the philosopher of the “I,” seeks to construct an entire world out of the “I.” Does the world’s creation cease for hours during sleep? [We must realize]: During the day, one does not have the “I,” but rather the image of the “I,” like a figure in a mirror. The mirror image indicates that there is something one perceives only in the mirror. Where is the agency of the “I” itself? How we have grown from epoch to epoch—our particular development is attributable to the particular character of the “I.” Then we must move beyond the obliteration of the “I.” What is obliterated is the concept, but not the activity of the “I.” The core of the “I” is present in both waking and sleeping, [there it reveals itself to us in its reality]. We must ascend to a real grasp of the “I”; in this way, our inner life will grow and become richer. The “I” is to be observed like any process in a chemistry laboratory. We must learn to feel. The task is difficult, but it can ultimately lead to grasping the self. It is difficult to move beyond mere imagination and gain a sense of ourselves. Then there is the second point that must guide us: We remember up to a certain point; we cannot go beyond the beginning. But it is absurd to believe that the “I” was not there [before]. Life, the character of the soul, is already present in the child when it comes into the world (Schopenhauer). The child will immediately repel and attack; the child’s fundamental nature remains even beyond the point of memory. How can the “I” be found as it was before?

[ 8 ] We arrive at this point through our ideas. But we must take a leap beyond those ideas. With our state of mind and our volitional life, we go beyond our own will. We are placed within a certain community of people and language. This must be accepted calmly, as if I had not placed myself there myself. It is not knowledge that underlies this, but a decision of the will. Thus, as we look back, we are led even further back. Then something strange occurs, as if one had two glasses and were pouring water from one into the other, yet the glass from which one pours never became empty—[or like gases that then turn into water]. Something entirely new emerges. [Feeling and will come together and say: ‘You have forged your own destiny.’] Through an act of will, one calmly accepts the destiny “in which I am immersed”—a sensation of being within one’s own destiny. There one comes to the sensation of one’s enduring self; there we step out of ourselves beyond the physical, sensory world; there we are permeated, animated by our own “I.” Thus the wall is swept away. In the world of imagination, it is like a wall; but our fate is built by our own “I,” from the supersensible world: Today, the most important thing is not to contemplate the outer side, but to experience within oneself the feeling: “You are.”

[ 9 ] [While a person surrenders to the will in a dream, they are guided through a world of images. There are symbols that affect the soul, not of their own accord, but out of certain necessities:] The imagination of love is to fill one vessel from another, whereby the one from which one pours never becomes empty. Such is love. Imagining this in the abstract does not help much. Not through definitions, but through clear, symbolic ideas [triangle], does our soul continue to progress. If one allows such images to take effect, one detaches from the external world. In this way, one grows inwardly together with the supersensible world, builds a bridge to it, and gains the certainty: “It is.” This has a direct impact on life.

[ 10 ] Further consideration also reveals [that] we must assume the existence of previous lives in which the causes for later lives were laid.

[ 11 ] Heroic souls will say to themselves: What we achieve, we pass on to future generations. [That would be] the most intimate experience we can have; [if we were to] pass it on to [future] generations, it would thus be lost [to us].

[ 12 ] As the physical aspect diminishes, the spiritual aspect grows stronger, and we can sense that something is developing within us that will give rise to a new life. Human beings learn to experience the spiritual-soul core within themselves. Through this, they experience eternity. [This is like an] elixir of life. Vitality and confidence spring forth from such reflections. Destiny is the supersensible law of karma. Human beings learn to experience the supersensible world and feel that, by connecting inwardly with these thoughts, they will become useful in a life yet to be built—and thus will not be mere “onlookers.” These are forces that propel people forward—like the steam in a locomotive. Our thoughts are living, weaving forces in the universe. The soul, which understands itself as living within the entire universe, feels its connection to it.

Question and Answer

Question: About Nietzsche.

[ 13 ] Rudolf Steiner: [One should] not let one’s own judgments influence one’s view when speaking about certain personalities. As a cultural phenomenon, he is particularly interesting, drawing on Schopenhauer, Wagner, and [Greek] culture. Nietzsche is not a creative spirit. He took the fate of culture upon his own soul. He suffers from the positivism of his time. The fate of the heart will cause others to regard him as nothing more than [i.e., other than mere?] theory. Darwinism: ditto—applied to Nietzsche’s life.

[ 14 ] The world of the imagination must be nourished from within. Nietzsche attempts this; [he] does not find the path to knowledge, but seeks the supernatural in man through an insight [?] into the will. He captivates us through the tragedy of his life. One should approach Nietzsche in the same way one approaches the humanities—objectively.

Question: [not recorded].

[ 15 ] Rudolf Steiner: Devotion to a higher being without selfishness fosters the development of the soul. The same applies to prayer or meditation; these must be imbued with the fundamental attitude: “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

[ 16 ] [The] folding of the hands: It has a positive effect when the speaker’s intent is sincere. It conveys a sense of unity, in keeping with human physiology. The natural—unforced—movement of the speaker’s hands alone conveys this.