The Rudolf Steiner Archive

10. The Psychic Human Being and the Questions of Free Will and Immortality According to the Findings of Spiritual Science

[ 1 ] Ladies and gentlemen! It is not some external occasion that prompts me to address the two most significant questions of the human soul and emotional life in this reflection today— the question of human free will and the question of the immortality of the soul; rather, it seems to me that a true inner understanding of the human being’s supersensible personality reveals a natural inner connection between these two profound mysteries of humanity, such that one must shed light on the other.

[ 2 ] Ladies and gentlemen, one need only look a little more closely at the philosophical and other endeavors—recurring time and again—of highly perceptive minds throughout human history to gain a better understanding of these two fundamental questions of humanity. And one will see that a purely philosophical consideration—as it is usually understood—cannot come close to what these questions, which are so deeply rooted in every individual human soul, actually seek to convey to humanity. I myself, ladies and gentlemen—if I may mention this by way of introduction—have been engaged with the question of human free will for decades, and a quarter of a century has passed since I attempted, in my book The Philosophy of Freedom, to point out—at that time in a purely philosophical and scientific form—those aspects through which one can at least approach this question of human freedom. What was presented by me at that time, a quarter of a century ago, I would say in an abstract-philosophical manner, I would like to ground in this evening’s discussion in the spirit-scientific sense—in the very spirit-scientific sense that was intended throughout the long years during which I was also able to give lectures here in Munich each year on anthroposophically oriented spiritual science.

[ 3 ] Now, perhaps especially in our own time, only those who have grappled with what the scientific worldview has to say today about these very mysteries of humanity will be able to approach the two mysteries of humanity mentioned here in a well-prepared manner; who has wrestled with these questions to such an extent that, in the process, it has become clear to them where the scientific approach must ultimately fail—precisely when it comes to the deepest questions of humanity such as these, which everyone will admit from the outset must lead to what can be called human self-knowledge.

[ 4 ] Now, esteemed audience, let us begin—figuratively speaking, I might say—by pointing out the difficulties that must be assumed from the outset with regard to human self-knowledge. To put it figuratively: The eye can indeed perceive the visible things around it; it is precisely because the eye cannot see itself that it is able to perceive the visible things around it. Anyone who reflects on this analogy will find it understandable that the difficulty of human self-knowledge must lie in the fact that, while one can perceive everything else with the organs of perception at one’s disposal, one’s own self can be perceived just as little mentally as the eye can see itself.

[ 5 ] Now, as far as the eye is concerned, it is certainly possible for another person to examine that eye physiologically, anatomically, or in any other way; yet even a fleeting reflection shows that this cannot be the case with regard to the actual self of the human being—which, after all, more or less everyone senses in their subconscious as something supernatural. Another person cannot observe that which reigns invisibly and supersensibly within us in the same way that another person can observe the human eye.

[ 6 ] However, there is another image we can use. We can see our own eye when we look in the mirror. This merely means that we do not then see, with the eye, the entire living content of that eye—that which must actually live within the eye to make it an organ of sight and a mediator of the soul’s perception of the external world. Only an image of the eye can appear to us when we look at the eye in the mirror.

[ 7 ] I have presented these images in order, first of all, to guide you—I would say, in a rough way—through a few ideas toward what is to be the central theme of today’s discussion. If self-knowledge is to arise in human beings at all, there is no other way than for the human being himself—and not someone else—to step out of the human existence in which he is usually immersed and learn to observe himself from the outside. This, however, immediately expresses something that is actually a scientific abomination in the widespread contemporary worldview, but which will most certainly take root in human thinking just as the Copernican worldview has taken root. It is simply still unfamiliar today what, as in the past, is meant to present itself to our soul today. That a human being could step out of his or her own self, could, so to speak, truly confront oneself—this seems to most people today to be an absurd idea.

[ 8 ] Well, the spiritual researcher is compelled not to proceed in the same way as one would in another scientific inquiry. In that kind of scientific inquiry, when presented in popular terms, one generally presents results; the spiritual researcher is not in a position to merely cite such results. He must—especially when dealing with a question as fundamental as the one we are addressing today—first and foremost indicate the path he is pointing to, if he wishes to present certain research findings as important and essential to every human life. Therefore, my task in the first part of today’s reflection will consist above all in showing how the spiritual researcher approaches that aspect of human existence through which one can recognize what freedom of will and the immortality of the soul actually entail. I would like to reflect on what it actually means to step out of one’s ordinary human existence and view oneself from the outside, as it were, as in a mirror—though one can of course assume—and I will say this right away—that from the outside one does not initially see the living human being before oneself, but perhaps only an image, just as the eye sees an image in a mirror.

[ 9 ] But before I offer these reflections on the methods of the humanities, I would like to cite at least one example that serves to show how the contemporary scientific approach—which is, after all, fully recognized by the humanities—always and everywhere strives to address the questions of human self-knowledge, yet how precisely this scientific approach—even when its methodology is sound—proves to be unsuitable for reaching the true human self, despite its excellence in the realm of natural science.

[ 10 ] To illustrate this, here is an example from a paper in the excellent series published in Wiesbaden that addresses borderline issues of nervous and mental life—a topic Ludwig Waldstein explores in Das unterbewusste Ich (The Subconscious Self). This is a scientific treatise through which the author seeks to approach what lives within the human being, and as a natural scientist, it goes without saying that he approaches the subject with a truly scientific method—just as spiritual science does; for spiritual science, too, cannot afford to approach the human being through mystical reverie and fantasy. Spiritual science must stand on such solid ground, even if it must proceed differently than any natural science can or will.

[ 11 ] Now Ludwig Waldstein offers a curious self-observation—though this example could be multiplied by the hundreds and thousands—in which he says of himself: He was once standing in front of a bookstore, looking inside. His gaze fell on a book about mollusks. It was only natural for the naturalist to let his gaze rest on the title page of this treatise. But as he scanned the title page, he found himself smiling. He cannot explain why he—a naturalist, for whom this book is certainly a serious matter—began to laugh. He wants to figure out why a book title makes him laugh. He tries to figure it out by closing his eyes. And lo and behold, as he closes them, he hears, faintly in the distance, the melody of a barrel organ playing exactly the same tune that had been played for him decades ago, when, as a very young man, he danced his first quadrille; when he looked at the mollusk book by its title, he had no idea why he had to laugh, for the sound of the organ was very faint. He wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t closed his eyes.

[ 12 ] This is how he came to realize that, first of all, one can make certain expressions of one’s inner life without actually knowing—unless one investigates the matter closely—how one comes to reveal aspects of oneself, such as a smile; second, he realized that decades ago, though only very faintly, this melody on the barrel organ had made an impression on him—albeit only a half-dreamlike one—for he himself knew that he hadn’t really paid much attention to it at the time. Nevertheless, that sound of the barrel organ—heard back then as it faded softly into the distance—has remained lodged in his subconscious, and now, as it resounds even more softly, it mingles with his inner life as a reminiscence and brings about a revelation that one must first investigate.

[ 13 ] At best, one can only approach what lies behind such a fact using purely scientific methods; but one cannot truly penetrate to its true essence. One must ask oneself: What is actually at work in this subconscious inner life—what surges up from it in an indefinite way, asserts itself, and can deceive one about what is actually present in the inner life? And many people who pay no attention to such things as have just been mentioned experience that something rises up from their inner life that particularly interests them—something they regard as a special insight. They feel themselves to be the bearers of a great revelation, and yet this great revelation may be nothing more than something akin to the fading notes of a barrel organ. For it could easily have come about through some association of ideas that the man standing before the book on mollusks, as the sounds softly rang out, might have linked that to something else.

[ 14 ] And lo and behold, there are already people today who are suited for this, even if not the naturalist—such a person might have believed, had the sounds of the barrel organ perhaps blended with, say, the idea of celestial music (which could well have been the case), that he would have been justified in this instance in turning his gaze away from the book toward the sublime celestial music. It can very easily happen, if one is a prejudiced mystic, that one confuses the sounds, which resound once more from a barrel organ heard decades ago, with the music of the spheres or with other spiritual revelations.

[ 15 ] From this, however, it is clear that true spiritual research must be an endeavor that exercises all the caution necessary to rule out that which flows so indeterminately through the human soul life and can surface in an inexplicable way, easily leading to all manner of delusions. One must tell oneself: Various things flood in, and when one considers what human memory is, all the individual possibilities should actually come to mind quite quickly—from the ordinary, dry, sober recollection of something specific that one can grasp, to the vague reminiscences of barrel-organ tunes, which one might not even be able to get to the bottom of unless one closes one’s eyes and investigates the matter. The humanities must be aware that everything that can thus approach human beings in a deceptive way must be methodically processed by them; that it is their responsibility to approach the human self precisely through strictly methodical work, particularly when confronting the fundamental questions of human self-knowledge.

[ 16 ] And here I would like to point out—as I said, a quarter of a century ago I already attempted to shed light on human free will—that there are two things that flow into the life of the human soul, which serve as a starting point for reflection.

[ 17 ] Precisely when one wishes to delve deeply into the human being, there may be a vague surging of something we may not even be able to investigate—I have pointed this out very clearly in my book How Does One Gain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds? —and even if such ebbing and flowing is found in human soul life, one comes to realize: This ebbing and flowing is connected to our physical constitution, and it truly does not require all too deep self-observation to recognize the high degree to which what flows through the soul from waking to falling asleep depends even on physical processes and dispositions. Ideas arise freely, come and go, and intermingle with one another. This is what constitutes our inner life.

[ 18 ] But one thing floods into this inner life—a fact that is clear to every philosopher, clear to every human being when they reflect on it, yet one that is not always brought to consciousness in the right way—one thing floods in that can become a fundamental mystery, however simple it may seem, and that is: We do not simply allow the ideas that seek to form communities within our soul to ebb and flow in any way they please. We could not possibly navigate our lives through the world in an appropriate manner if we were to simply surrender to the play of ideas. We are always doing something very specific. In this life of imagination, we allow something to flow in that distinguishes between correct and incorrect ideas; we allow powerful, logic-driven thinking to flow into our play of imagination, and even if one engages in nothing more than a very superficial self-observation, one will come to realize: There is a radical, fundamental difference between simply surrendering to the play of imagination and the autonomous rule of this play of imagination by thinking, which determines what is true or false.

[ 19 ] As simple and primitive as this may be, it must actually be the starting point of any healthy self-reflection. We must tell ourselves: We can only mentally transcend this realm—into which all manner of illusions can creep—and transcend this game of imagination if we become aware that all manner of false, erroneous ideas likewise unfold through laws of our human nature and organism that are strictly determinable by natural science; yet what intervenes in what is thus scientifically necessary and conditioned by the organism the true and false aspects of thought—which cannot arise from the same interplay of ideas—is simply demonstrated by healthy self-observation. I have elaborated on this in greater detail in the cited book.

[ 20 ] That is the first question it poses to us: What is it, actually, that floods into our inner life when we assert—in the face of arbitrary flights of imagination—logically oriented thinking, or perhaps, more accurately, correct and incorrect thinking, thinking that corresponds to reality? That is the first question. Let us first take this as the basis for today’s reflections.

[ 21 ] The other question is this: In our actions, in our deeds, in everything through which we bring our own lives into the social, moral, and ethical existence of humanity—it is here, as sound self-observation shows, that our instincts and desires, which underlie our impulses of will, first make themselves felt. But anyone who does not remain stuck in any preconceptions will realize that, at least in terms of action, in terms of conduct, and in terms of moral living, one approaches that which can be characterized in the following way—and this is the other point that leads us to the mysteries of life we are discussing today: Certainly, the vast majority of human actions are rooted in instincts, desires, and some sort of constitution of the self; but there are still such actions—at least we are approaching them—which, because we are imperfect human beings, we can never fully carry out; we regard them, at least, as an ideal. We know this: A person is only truly human when they bring their actions closer to the kind of conduct I am about to describe. It is conceivable that we are not driven—in the rarer cases, of course—not by any instinct, but by the vision of what is to be accomplished through us. This is a special feeling, a special sensation that we can develop toward what is to be accomplished through us.

[ 22 ] Certainly, we will rarely be able to experience this feeling, but we do have it within us as an ideal, and we are constantly drawing closer to it. Something in the outside world can make such an impression on us that we say to ourselves: “A change must take place here; something must happen.” And if, with sound self-observation, we seek to understand what is going on within us when we say such things to ourselves, we have nothing else to compare it to but the feeling we have when we are faced with a personality who stands independently outside of us and whom we love selflessly.

[ 23 ] Twenty-five years ago, it seemed particularly important to me to speak out in a philosophical book against a widespread prejudice. This prejudice can be summed up in the words: “Love is blind.” I argued: “Love opens our eyes.” It leads us into that which we cannot enter if we remain selfishly closed off within ourselves; it is possible when we are able to surrender ourselves to such an extent that we live through our sensations and feelings within the other—and do so because we have the utmost reverence for the autonomy of the other being, whom we do not wish to change through our love. This is not a complete love that seeks to meddle with the other being it loves, that wants the other being to be different from what it is; rather, this is true love—loving the being for its own sake—so that the lover steps outside of themselves.

[ 24 ] Just as we can feel love for another person who is completely separate from us—whom we love all the more when we are aware that they are separate in their own right, that we do not wish to exert any influence through anything connected to our own selfishness, that we love them for their own sake, not for ours—when we have this feeling, then this is undoubtedly the ideal of love—that love which I believe does not blind us but rather enables us to see. And this love can also be directed toward an action, toward what needs to be done, when we devote ourselves purely to the contemplation of that action. Among the manifold actions that flow from our instincts and desires, there are also those in which we at least come closer to the impulse that, out of pure love for the action itself, carries out whatever it undertakes.

[ 25 ] Here is the other point that I characterized in my Philosophy of Freedom at the time by saying: Anyone who now considers the idea of freedom will soon realize that an action can only be free if it arises in this way from the impulse of love for the action itself. At first, of course, this must be accepted merely as an observation; but it offers the possibility of at least forming an initial conception of what a free action might be. One comes to realize that one is not authorized to describe other actions as free. And the only question that arises is whether it is possible for such actions to enter human life, whether it is possible for actions born of love to be realized in human life. Then, if we can acknowledge that actions born of love can become a reality in human life, we may not be able to call a human being free in relation to his or her entire being; but we can say: The human being is approaching freedom, approaching it to the extent that he or she increasingly reshapes his or her actions so that they become actions born of love.

[ 26 ] However, once one has set before oneself these two things that I have characterized, one cannot grasp them by merely examining ideas and concepts from an external perspective. One can only grasp them through the methods of the spiritual sciences, which I will now describe.

[ 27 ] I have described in detail what the soul must go through—call it “exercises,” if you will—in order to truly look into the spiritual world, just as one looks into the sensory world with one’s physical eyes; I have described this in my various books; but today I wish to draw attention to a point that is particularly suited to shedding light on the two questions I have described. I have pointed out that the first stage of spiritual knowledge can be called imaginative knowledge—the imaginative perception of one’s surroundings. This is not initially present in ordinary consciousness. By “imagination” here, I do not mean something that arises merely from the imagination, but rather something that, while not leading into a physical reality, does lead into a spiritual reality. This imaginative cognition is the first stage—if the term were not so misused by superstition, one could say the first stage of true clairvoyant cognition; but I wish to say that it is the first stage of contemplative consciousness, as I have called it in my book The Riddle of Man.

[ 28 ] I will have to describe how one arrives at this first stage of looking into the spiritual world. The first step is to truly exclude everything that might come to mind—well, let’s say—you’ll understand what I mean—from the barrel organ one heard decades ago. Everything that might surface in our consciousness in this way—through reminiscences or perhaps even the most hidden memory reflexes—must be ruled out if one wishes to enter the spiritual world. Therefore, it is necessary to introduce into consciousness something that does not arise through the free play of ideas, but rather enters consciousness in the same way it otherwise arises when we say: “A certain idea, which also flows from our own constitution, is false or true.” Just as thinking—when truly directed toward truth or falsehood—introduces its contents into the life of the soul, so must the person who wishes to become a spiritual researcher attune their consciousness to contents that cannot be deceptive, because they are comprehensible.

[ 29 ] What is meant by such “manageable” content? Manageable content is content that either someone else or you yourself have organized in such a way that, the moment you bring it into your consciousness, you are perfectly clear about: this compilation of visual content—pure thoughts do not work well here, because they can always be tinged with reminiscences—of images that you yourself have formed or that have been formed for you by others in your consciousness, the arrangement of which you can clearly grasp. That is what matters: patiently, energetically, and calmly surrendering oneself to such images that one has assembled in this way. In doing so, it does not matter whether such images express something real—for what matters is not what these images mean, but rather what kind of inner spiritual activity one develops by surrendering oneself to such images.

[ 30 ] Let us say, for example: Someone surrenders to an idea of which one is convinced from the outset that it is merely a figurative idea, but such figurative ideas must be multiplied; he surrenders to the idea: “The spirit of the universe shines forth from the sun.” Certainly not something that can initially be called “real” in any sense, but something whose composition one can grasp, through which one can become aware of how the soul acts upon such a thing. Those who, in the course of human development—and there have always been such people in closed circles—have devoted themselves to showing people the way into the spiritual world have carefully elaborated such pictorial conceptions; and if you engage with the literature in this field, you will be able to see for yourself that certain circles, which wish to train those who join them for the path into the spiritual world, may remain silent about some things for certain reasons; but they maintain the most intense, resolute silence precisely regarding the very images they have compiled—images into which the soul is to immerse itself in order to attain imaginative knowledge. And they consider it necessary, the moment such images are revealed, to replace them with others. Why?

[ 31 ] Now, imagine this: someone joins a circle that tells him they will show him the way into the spiritual world. At first, he is presented with images—images he has never conceived of before, or at least is not yet supposed to have conceived of—to which he surrenders himself in a completely new spiritual activity. Therefore, these images must not have been presented to them before. However, once something has been published, it reaches people through various channels. It is meant to approach the person for the very first time. It must not be possible for any recollections or the like to influence the experience. It must be clear that the soul approaches the matter directly.

[ 32 ] When one, with patience and perseverance, takes in such imagery—especially visual images—and becomes aware of how one must work inwardly to keep these images in consciousness again and again, to surrender to them in a way that can be described as true meditation, then one becomes aware that such inner soul activity requires a stronger inner force than ordinary thinking, in which we are guided by the course of the external world of perception and can passively surrender to it.

[ 33 ] A greater effort is required when, in certain areas of imaginative cognition, we surrender ourselves to certain ideas that have no external correlate; but this must be developed further. A person must be able to refrain from looking—through any of the senses—at anything he perceives sensually, and be wholly absorbed in a perception that he surveys, in which he becomes aware only of what is within him in the immediate present as a limited activity of the soul, where nothing from any reminiscences can intrude.

[ 34 ] Something strange happens. What one has to go through there often requires years and years of work. People usually imagine that spiritual science is something anyone can develop based on any number of concepts. No, spiritual science is no easier than the sciences known as physiology, chemistry, biology, anatomy, and history; rather, spiritual science requires dedicated work that is far more difficult than any work in any external science, if spiritual science is truly to lead into the spiritual world and not merely be a mystical game.

[ 35 ] What happens here is that, at first, you truly come to realize that, with your self, you are increasingly present within a being in which you were not previously present; at first, you notice more and more—you simply have to go through the experience—that: You become independent of what you otherwise experience through your body; you become more independent in your actions. Anyone who has not experienced this cannot, in essence, view it critically in any way; but anyone who has experienced it knows that just as it is true that water can be separated into hydrogen and oxygen through electrolysis, so too is it true that the inner experience of the self can be separated from what is otherwise actually experienced in waking consciousness—from the moment of waking until falling asleep—solely through the physical organism.

[ 36 ] We are now learning what it means to live within it in spirit. This sense of self, this self-awareness, becomes richer. Self-awareness is, so to speak, usually concentrated in a single point that we call the “I”; but now it becomes richer—the further we advance in this imaginative cognition, the richer it becomes. But ultimately one realizes one thing: No matter how far one pursues this imaginative cognition, it does not yet lead directly into a spiritual world. That is the important point. Just as having an eye—without that eye looking at the world—does not lead the eye into a world, so too does mere imaginative, meditative contemplation not lead into the spiritual world. One does not engage in this imaginative meditation in the first place to perceive anything external, but rather to strengthen the Self, to grow in power. And this begins at a certain point in inner development, when the Self no longer feels physical but spiritual—feels spiritual in its inner experience.

[ 37 ] This must be experienced. It is necessary, my esteemed audience, for this experience to take place correctly, that human beings learn to distinguish what I have just characterized as “imagination” from mere vision on the one hand and mere fantasy images on the other. Vision is always physically conditioned; for spiritual science, it offers nothing that can be of any use, for it wells up from the physical organism, no matter how hidden its origin may be. The human being is not consciously involved in the process by which a vision comes about. Spiritual science does not seek such things.

[ 38 ] Nor does spiritual science seek what is merely a figment of the imagination; for what it practices, in the manner described—this does not remain a figment of the imagination but rather becomes condensed—becomes inner reality, and one realizes that, from a certain point in one’s development onward, one can no longer string images together one by one, but rather that the images line up of their own accord, one after another. One notices that, with this inner experience in the imagination, things gradually become the same as they are with objects in the external world. You can place a chair on a table—that corresponds to external laws—but you cannot make a chair float in mid-air. External objects, in their mutual relationships, require that we conform to external laws if we wish to act upon them. Thus, as one develops the imagination, one eventually reaches a point where one can no longer arrange images one after another in any arbitrary way internally, but must place one image next to another with the same necessity with which a chair must be placed on a table. One experiences an inner, spiritual necessity.

[ 39 ] This is a significant point on the path of spiritual research. However, it is necessary to remain fully conscious at every stage of this inner process of seeking through the power of imagination. Anything that could lead to hypnosis or suggestion must be ruled out. During meditation, one must be fully present at every step. It would be nonsensical to seek spiritual science through, for example, crystal gazing or staring at shiny objects. That would lead to the opposite of the state of mind required to immerse oneself in the spiritual world with full consciousness.

[ 40 ] This state of mind I have just spoken of is still little known in the broadest circles today. It will become known as humanity will be unable to do anything other than what is already, for countless people today, an unconscious urge, an unconscious impulse; as humanity will come to demand a rigorous new approach to the highest questions of the soul’s life, one that differs from how these questions have been approached thus far. But then, once one has—in a certain way, perhaps after a long time—methodically developed this process of imagination within oneself, one must move on to something I would like to describe as follows: One must make the imagination transparent.

[ 41 ] When it comes to the imagination, one finds oneself in the following situation—a situation akin to facing an eye that is clouded; one cannot see through it. One actually has to attain imaginations spiritually in order to strengthen one’s self-consciousness. What one gains for oneself is, at first, the result of the imaginative life; but one is, so to speak, blind to the spiritual environment. The imaginations are not yet transparent; just as the eye must be transparent within the vitreous body so that the external world can be seen, so too must the imaginations be made transparent. We can achieve this by progressing further and further, not merely in forming the imaginations, but in the inner experience of these imaginations.

[ 42 ] At a certain point in one’s development, one comes to possess the ability not only to bring imaginations into consciousness, but also to remove them again, to suppress them in any way one chooses. But then, it is not merely a matter of suppressing them; rather, by suppressing them, they are gone. Yet something else takes their place. Imagination has prepared one; it has merely made one’s own self receptive so that something else may enter it. When one is able to make the imaginations transparent, one sees how, through the watery humor of the eye, one looks toward the visible object and into the spiritual world; one attains spiritual vision.

[ 43 ] Imaginations that have become transparent! They allow the revelations of the spiritual world to reach the soul, and I call the level of insight that arises here—one need only think of what I am describing here, not of superstitious notions, not of notions laden with prejudice— I call the level of knowledge that arises—after one has gained just enough from imagination by relying solely on the soul-spiritual, outside the body, to the point of being able to sustain oneself spiritually; when one can then set aside the imaginations, what one might call “inspiration from the spiritual world” begins to take hold.

[ 44 ] Inspired insight—that is the second stage. And it occurs in such a way that we become able to suppress the image we have created ourselves, and that through the act of suppressing this image, inspiration arises—the spiritual revelation that speaks to us from the spirit of the world. Here it is different from any ordinary memory, from any capacity for recollection. The person suddenly sees into the very nature of their memory, because they have now set it aside; because they now clearly perceive, in a specific instance, how the cause—the image they themselves have formed—is connected to inspiration. That which otherwise reigns subconsciously within us, as with the barrel organ, now approaches us in a new form. We realize within ourselves: Ordinary memory is not present during moments of spiritual research, but it has transformed into something else—into the gift of inspiration.

[ 45 ] On such an occasion, I must of course point out that a person cannot be a spiritual researcher from morning to night; it is not a matter of my describing a perpetual state into which a person is supposed to enter, but rather I am describing the process through which one enters the spiritual world in a spirit of inquiry. Certainly, such things as I have described here are most often distorted when they enter the world through social channels, because all manner of errors arise within societies. There, the wildest ideas are often spread about what is actually meant. What is at stake here is showing the path into the spiritual world. And just as one is not a chemist all day long from morning to evening—but only when conducting experiments at the laboratory bench—so too is one a spiritual researcher only when one carries out what I have described, when one finds the transition from an image, from imagination, to inspiration.

[ 46 ] And now, once one has risen to the possibility of inspiration, the world now appears in a new light; it is no longer sensory perceptions that speak to us—for we have suppressed those—but rather a spiritual world now presents itself to the mind’s eye, to use this Goethean expression in a modified sense. And now one can return to the questions that present themselves as enigmas in ordinary life. Having learned what inspiration is, one can now confront what I characterized earlier: the way in which correct or incorrect thinking floods into the mere play of ideas. If, after having once risen to the level of inspiration, one examines one’s inner life with the clarity that is now possible, and comes to recognize—with the aid of imagination and inspiration—the difference between the ordinary play of ideas and memory and that which shines into ordinary consciousness from the perspective of what is right or wrong, one arrives at a very remarkable conclusion: one comes to answer the question of how that which flows into the soul as logically correct or incorrect thinking actually approaches the human being. This reveals itself in its true form only in the presence of inspiration.

[ 47 ] What flows into the soul is already contained in that which, descending from a spiritual world, unites with what we physically inherit from our father, mother, grandfather, grandmother, and so on. As we look back through inspiration into our soul-spiritual being—which we lived through before entering physical life through conception or birth, which we lived through in a purely spiritual existence—as we look back there through inspiration, we become aware: The impulses lie there within, not at all in the physical constitution we received at birth.

[ 48 ] In our immortal part, which descends into the physical world through conception or birth, lie the impulses for right or wrong thinking. And it turns out that the human being introduces right or wrong thinking into what depends on the interplay of ideas concerning his physical constitution because he has not a conscious—it only becomes conscious through the processes I have described—but an unconscious inspiration. “Right” or “wrong” enters our soul life from our prenatal existence through a subconscious or unconscious inspiration.

[ 49 ] We also have inspiration in this ordinary life, though not in our ordinary consciousness. Every time that which enables us to determine whether a thought is a correct or incorrect judgment floods into our imaginative play, we are not at all determined by our ideas, which are bound to our organism; rather, the cause goes back to our immortal part, which has united with our mortal part. The causes of our correct thinking lie before our birth; we are always inspired beings—it is just that this is true in the unconscious.

[ 50 ] What I have just explained is, first and foremost, viewed from a spiritual-psychological perspective. However, a time will come—for the foundations already exist in modern natural science—when anyone who truly studies physiology, biology, and anatomy will come to realize that, precisely when one is able to properly grasp the physiological and biological facts concerning human beings, a full confirmation of what I have expounded can also be found from a natural-scientific perspective. In this regard, one need only say: The scientific perspective of the nineteenth century and up to the present, however commendable it may be, has oversimplified matters; above all, it has oversimplified the development of the human being. Indeed, when one elaborates on something as I am about to briefly outline, one truly senses how spiritual science will only be able to come into its own when it becomes possible for it to work in laboratories and clinics in the same way that conventional, official science operates today.

[ 51 ] The humanities are not in conflict with the natural sciences, but only with the interpretations that natural scientists give to their own facts. I can only cite certain findings. For me, these are the findings that have become apparent to me over the past 30 to 35 years in my study of contemporary biology, physiology, and anatomy. If one proceeds more carefully than the Darwinists—than the evolutionists of the nineteenth century did—one comes to say to oneself: In humans—we will set aside the animals for now, as we have no time for that today—it becomes apparent that this development, which natural science has actually incorporated into its concepts, is present in human nature only in part—only in part, which is the curious thing—only, so to speak, in the trunk organization, not in the head organization and not in the organization of the extremities.

[ 52 ] Anyone who truly wants to understand human development must divide the human being into three parts: the head, the torso, and the limbs. The facts are all there; principles exist in spiritual science only to view these facts realistically and objectively. Then something curious becomes apparent when one observes progressive development—when one sees development as a progression from imperfect to perfect forms—namely, that in the case of human beings, development exists only in relation to the torso-human. The “head human”—the head organization, the brain organization—is not only in a state of progressive development; it is, as the human being lives it out in ordinary life, in a state of regressive development. With regard to the head, the human being is simultaneously developing in a backward direction. I could speak for hours, and it would become clear that this can be strictly scientifically substantiated today. One should study the scientific facts in this field, but not as they are studied today—rather, with true precision. One should not remain a scientific dilettante, as many researchers are, but become a true expert in the strictest sense by delving into what actually exists.

[ 53 ] Then it turns out—for example, when considering the human eye—that it should not be viewed in light of the facts as if, for instance, the animal eye were simply a more perfect version of the human eye. No, in certain animals you will find certain organs inside the eye, such as the scleral process, which are more intimately connected to the blood-muscle system than in humans. In humans, the eye is simplified compared to the eyes of various animals. It is undergoing regression, not merely progressive development. And so, precisely by proceeding with precision, one could now demonstrate that the human head organization and everything connected with it is in a state of regressive development—that something associated with sprouting, growing, and flourishing life is being retracted. Development is collapsing in on itself.

[ 54 ] This is a very interesting fact that will bridge the gap between the natural sciences and the humanities. For what is the meaning of this convergence of development? Well, if development were to proceed in the same way as in the rudimentary organism—in a linear fashion—if it did not, so to speak, collapse in on itself, then human imagination could not arise at all; then human beings could not unfold their spiritual and psychological life. Development recedes; it makes room. A truly scientific perspective reveals precisely this: development makes room. Where the bodily, the physical recedes, there the spiritual emerges.

[ 55 ] A superficial scientific examination leads to materialism. A deeper scientific examination leads to the realization that development is held back precisely within the main organism, that it makes room, and that where physical development can no longer reach—because it is held back—the spiritual-psychic takes its place. From the rest of the organism, that which determines the arbitrary play of ideas surges upward. Into the head organism can creep that which, before birth, intervenes in this life through unconscious inspiration in a regulating manner. Unconscious inspiration is present. The prospect of the immortal—of that which is merely connected to the mortal—presents itself to us when, through spiritual scientific research, we penetrate into something that exists within human beings, something that philosophy has been contemplating for decades but cannot fathom, because it shrinks back from entering the true spiritual world. When what constitutes right or wrong thinking is revealed to us through inspiration, we enter the realm where the human soul being confronts us as the immortal—as that which is connected to the mortal.

[ 56 ] The other point, ladies and gentlemen, leads, I would say, to the opposite. There is another curious phenomenon at work here: an unconscious inspiration, as I said, on the one hand, which enters into the human organism because this organism is undergoing regression with respect to the human head. The opposite is true of the human organism with respect to the structure of the human extremities. Again, a thorough examination of purely scientific facts would corroborate what I am about to say. Just as the head is undergoing regression, so too is the structure of the human extremities undergoing overdevelopment; it goes beyond normal development, surpasses the point of normal development, and extends beyond it. Anyone who is able to view arms, hands, legs, feet, and their appendages from a purely physiological perspective—toward the interior of the organism—knows that the human organism transcends itself; that here the organic is not in a state of regression, nor is it merely normal, but rather leaps beyond the point of normality, so that more comes to light in this development than what is contained within the trunk organization within the limits of normal development. Viewed spiritually, this presents itself in such a way that, for the kind of observation I have just described, that which is connected with the organization of the extremities reveals itself as recognizable and accessible only through the imaginative life. Imaginative life, imaginative cognition, perceives something before the soul—by looking meaningfully, with a truly clairvoyant consciousness, into what the human organization presents in the extremities—and perceives something that a human being possesses within themselves beyond what can be acquired between birth and death. They can possess more within themselves because their extremities are, in a certain sense, over-organized.

[ 57 ] Allow me—since we are not children, after all—to approach this concept, which is somewhat difficult, by drawing a comparison. In doing so, one must not view the extremities merely in terms of their outward appearance, but must consider them in terms of their extensions inward. In terms of the purely physical, what do we see here? We see that the organization of the extremities is intimately related—already on a physical level, though the physical is, of course, only of secondary importance to us—to that which enables the human being to transcend themselves even physically. Consider, in the case of women, the connection between the organization of the arms and that of the breasts. Consider the connection with the rest of the structure of the extremities, with sexuality, and you will recognize that, with regard to the physical constitution, the constitution operates in a state of overdevelopment through that which is connected with the structure of the extremities. Here, the human being initially develops something physically that is not confined to his or her individual life, something that goes beyond it. The same is true on the soul-spiritual level.

[ 58 ] That which is connected to the purely physical aspect of the overdeveloped organization of the extremities can be attained only through imagination. And what can be attained there in the realm of imagination belongs no more to the human personality—confined between birth and death—than the child belongs to the human being as an individuality in the physical realm. That which appears there as imagination belongs to the human being once it has passed through the gate of death. What is carried through the gate of death is that which announces itself when one responds to what emerges spiritually and psychologically in the overdevelopment of the limb system. But this, dear attendees, is connected to love not only in a physical sense; it is connected to love in a spiritual and psychological sense as well—connected because the human being transcends themselves.

[ 59 ] This is where the second point comes into play. As has already been indicated, when a human being, in the course of his or her development within the individual personality, cultivates something that only then acquires its significance upon passing through the gateway of death; as the human being develops something that leads his transitory being through the gate of death into the realm where his immortal being continues to develop, the human being lives in something that is not connected to his ego, to his immediate “I,” but transcends it.

[ 60 ] He can assert this in a special way. Twenty-five years ago, I called what I am now describing as arising from inspiration—in pure thinking, when it manifests not merely in logical but in moral ideas, and when a person acts on the basis of moral ideas—intuitive thinking. And what now arises when a person becomes aware that something imaginative lives within them—that is what I have called moral imagination. As a person becomes aware that, as it were, at one end there is an unconscious inspiration and at the other end an unconscious imagination, they become conscious of their immortality. But in ordinary life, this is present only unconsciously or subconsciously; but it is present. And it is present in the unconscious inspiration arising from what is right or wrong, as well as in the moral ideas that appear before our inner eye; it is present when, transcending ourselves in love—as I have described—we develop the power to act that goes beyond our ego.

[ 61 ] This leads to something very remarkable about human beings. When that which is otherwise present only unconsciously or subconsciously—the unconscious imagination, which is so closely bound to the human being and can act only through love, as I have described—interacts with intuitive or inspired thinking, which shines in from one side, illuminating the concept; when this thinking—which is drawn not from the mortal human being but from the immortal human being—interacts with the imagination, which remains unconscious in ordinary life but which, through our love of actions, instinctively approaches the human being; when this instinctive love—which is the instinctive expression of the imagination described—seizes the human being, and seizes him to such an extent that he asserts what shines into him through inspiration from before his birth, then the immortal acts upon the immortal within the human being; then the idea from the immortal—as it is experienced before birth—works together with the immortal as it appears unconsciously in the imagination and as it enters the spiritual world through the gate of death.

[ 62 ] Thus, human actions are possible in which the immortal—which reveals itself only after death—already works together here in life as a force with the free idea that enters our human personality as an impulse through inspiration from the immortal before birth. This is what constitutes free action. This free action is present in human beings, and they are conscious of it. One learns to recognize freedom only when one knows that the unconscious imagination, which prepares our life after death, works together with the unconscious inspiration that resounds into our soul as a force from our life before birth. By instinctively carrying out the actions that their immortal self performs, human beings carry out free actions. And the fact that human beings are aware of these free actions is the reflection, the mirage, of that which rests deep within the human being in the supersensible personality as an immortal entity. Human beings—as I explained 25 years ago—are not free in the sense that one can say: They are either free or not free; rather, they are both free and not free in their ordinary actions. They are on the path to freedom. But one does not become aware of freedom unless one becomes aware of the immortal essence of the human being.

[ 63 ] Today, as I conclude this discussion, I would like to summarize in two sentences what I have drawn from the spiritual-scientific examination of free action and the immortality of the soul, and what I have attempted to demonstrate: that one cannot understand freedom without recognizing immortality, and one cannot understand immortality without contemplating the consequence of true immortality—namely, freedom. The immortal human being is a free human being; the will that springs from immortality is a free one. Through their ordinary actions, human beings draw closer to these free actions. The mortal human being is on the path to freedom. As the mortal human being increasingly elevates the immortal within himself to a conscious being, he becomes aware of his freedom. Human beings are born to freedom, but they must educate themselves to realize that freedom.