The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Fifth Lecture

[ 1 ] Today we will begin with simple forms of pain, with its most basic manifestations. When one cuts one’s finger and feels pain, or when one’s hand is crushed, or when one’s hand is severed and one feels pain—these are the simplest, most primitive forms of pain; this is where our discussion will begin. When we ask scholars of the soul—psychologists—what they can offer to explain the simplest form of pain, these psychologists have become somewhat peculiar, especially in the present day. They have made a curious discovery: They have found that pain cannot be explained otherwise than by adding a “sense of pain” to the various senses—smell, sight, and hearing—so that a person perceives pain with this sense, just as he perceives light with his eyes and sounds with his ears. They say: People feel pain because they have a sense of pain. Although external experience gives us no basis for assuming the existence of a sense of pain, science—relying solely on pure observation—is by no means deterred from accepting it; it simply invents the sense of pain. But let us not dwell on this further; instead, let us ask ourselves: How does such a simple, primitive pain arise, and how is it experienced when one cuts one’s finger?

[ 2 ] The finger is a part of the physical body. The substances of the external physical world are present within it. The finger is permeated by the etheric and astral parts of the body that belong to the finger. What is the purpose of these higher parts—the etheric and the astral? The physical structure of the finger, which consists of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, and so on, and the cells arranged within it, could not be as they are if there were not behind them the active agent, the creator and builder—the etheric body—were not behind them. This etheric body has not only worked in the development of the finger, so that the cells came together to form it, but also maintains these cells in their present arrangement, for it prevents the finger from falling off and decaying. This etheric body permeates and vitalizes the entire finger; it occupies the same space as the physical finger. But the astral finger is also present. When we have any sensation in the finger—a pressure or some other perception—the astral body of the finger is naturally the mediator of that sensation, for the sensation is in the astral body.

[ 3 ] However, the connection between the physical, etheric, and astral fingers is by no means merely mechanical; rather, it is a constantly vibrant one. The etheric finger constantly infuses the physical finger with radiance and vitality; it works ceaselessly to shape its inner parts. What, then, is the etheric finger’s actual interest in the physical finger? Its interest lies in placing all these parts—with which it is connected down to the smallest details—in the right place and in the right proportion.

[ 4 ] Now let’s imagine we make a small cut in our skin and thereby injure it: Through this incision, we prevent the ether finger from arranging the parts in the correct way. It is located in the finger and is supposed to hold the parts together. This mechanical cut keeps them apart, so the etheric finger cannot do what it is supposed to do. It is in the same situation as we would be if, for example, we had prepared some tool ourselves to work in the garden, and someone destroyed that tool. Then one cannot do one’s work the way one would like to. Now one must do without what one had intended to undertake. This inability is best described as deprivation. The astral part of the finger experiences this inability to intervene as pain.

[ 5 ] When one swats a hand away, one can only swat away the physical hand, not the etheric hand, and this etheric hand is then unable to act; the astral hand perceives this immense deprivation as pain. Thus, through the interaction of the etheric and the astral, we have come to understand the nature of the most primitive, most elemental pain. This is indeed how pain arises, and it lasts until the astral aspect in this particular part has become accustomed to the fact that this activity is no longer being performed.

[ 6 ] Let us now compare this with the pain in Kamaloka. There, a person’s entire body is suddenly torn away; it is no longer there, and the etheric forces can no longer intervene. The astral body senses that the whole can no longer be organized; it craves the activity that can only be carried out with the physical body; it experiences this deprivation as pain. Every pain is a suppressed activity. Every suppressed activity in the cosmos leads to pain, and because activity in the cosmos must often be suppressed, pain is a necessity in the cosmos.

[ 7 ] However, something else can also happen. To a certain extent, the hand can be [restrained] from its particularly lively activity through processes of deprivation and the like, and as a result, its functions can be suppressed. This is the case, for example, when a person begins to mortify themselves. In doing so, they bring the body’s previously active and dynamic organs to a standstill, in a sense. Then, for example, in the case of the hand, the astral part separates from the etheric hand. The astral hand then has an excess of energy; it has lost its tasks, even though it could just as actively continue its activity. In this way, even though there is no actual injury, it has lost its purpose. If a person now treats themselves in such a way that they begin to feel this excess energy in the astral body and can say to themselves: I have excess energy left over; before, I used all my energy to regulate the physical body, but now I have brought the physical body under control. —It no longer requires as much energy—the astral body then experiences this surplus energy as bliss. For just as suppressed activity causes pain, so does accumulated energy give a feeling of bliss. The ability to do more than he was originally predisposed to do means bliss for the astral body. This awareness of an overflowing energy that can be channeled upward into creative activity—which can be directed from within, since the physical body does not draw upon it—is what constitutes bliss.

[ 8 ] What, then, is the purpose of the practices in religious orders aimed at mortifying the physical body? What does this mean? It means not overtaxing the functions of the physical body, thereby calming them and thus retaining some strength in the etheric body. Let us imagine, side by side, a person who has lived a life of self-denial, who has gradually managed to ensure that the metabolism of the physical body proceeds calmly without placing great demands on the etheric body, and another person who wants to eat as much as possible, whose bodily processes are in disarray, and who has a great deal to digest. In the first person, where everything proceeds calmly—indeed, where the physical functions even exhibit a certain sluggishness and do not consume the forces of the etheric body to such a great extent—the etheric body retains some strength. In the second person, however, the entire strength of the etheric body must be used to meet the needs of the palate and stomach; all the forces of the etheric body are consumed to maintain the physical body’s functions. The result is that the person who has brought his body to a state of rest and modesty has surplus forces in his etheric body, and the astral body reflects these as powers of cognition—not merely as bliss—and the imaginative images of the astral world appear before such a person. Savonarola, for example, did not have a physical body that demanded much of him; he was frail, indeed constantly sickly; he had much in his etheric body that was not consumed by the physical body, and he was able to use these forces to generate his powerful thoughts and impulses; he was able to deliver those mighty speeches through which he inspired his listeners. Through his visions—which he also experienced—he was able to powerfully present to his listeners what was to happen in the future.

[ 9 ] And now we can apply this to the spiritual worlds. Just as inhibited activity in the Kamaloka is deprivation—and in the Kamaloka there is always deprivation—so now, when a person enters Devachan, all inhibited activity ceases, because there is nothing left there that is in any way connected to the physical realm or that yearns with greed to return to it. There, the human being is endowed with spiritual substance, which gradually builds up the form of his future incarnation. There is the purest, most uninhibited activity, and the human being experiences this as the purest bliss. A person learns continuously throughout their life from everything around them. But the bodies they now possess—they have built them up through the powers of their previous incarnations; they have fashioned them through these powers. What they are now coming to know in their life is not yet present in their body. A person changes over the course of their life; their feelings and sensations change, their ideals grow, and a great deal of pent-up urge for activity lies within them—yet they cannot transform their body; they must leave it as it has been built up according to the experiences of their previous incarnations. In Devachan, he is freed from these inhibitions, and the result is that his uninhibited urge for activity finds fulfillment in bliss. There he creates his astral body, his etheric body, and his physical body for the new life. What remains unspent here is put to use in Devachan. He takes with him into Devachan not only his present, current consciousness, but also that which transcends his personality. This grants him an elevated existence in Devachan, so that in addition to what constitutes his individuality here, he also experiences in Devachan what he has gained as part of his individuality and what he was not yet able to express during his life. In this way, we come to understand pain and deprivation from the lowest level all the way up to bliss. In any given world, we can always trace the traces of what runs through all the worlds.

[ 10 ] In this way, we can also better appreciate the ascetic methods of development today. We can say: Just as pain is connected to an external injury to the physical body, so too is the bliss that is experienced connected to a reduction in external activity and, consequently, to an increase in inner activity. This is the rational aspect of ancient asceticism, and we can understand why renunciation was sought as a means of ascending to the higher worlds. Thus, we must often bring the most primitive aspects of the matter into clear view in order to learn, in a certain sense, how spiritual science explains to us—through the simplest of things, such as the injury of a finger—the path from deprivation and renunciation to bliss, and likewise how the endurance of physical pain can become a kind of path to knowledge. For everything is a parable, and when we explain the small things that lie before us—as spiritual science enables us to recognize them—we gradually rise to a spiritual height that allows us to comprehend the greatest things.

[ 11 ] If we compare this with what was said yesterday, it becomes clear that enduring physical pain can be a kind of training, a kind of path to insight. Let’s imagine a person who has never had a headache. He might say: “I know nothing about having a brain, because I’ve never felt it.” Let’s imagine that such a headache is not caused by external influences, but by a certain stage of Christian initiation called “the crowning with thorns.” There, the person experiences the feeling: No matter what sufferings, pains, or obstacles come my way, seeking to undermine what is most important to me—my mission—I will stand upright, even if I stand alone!—If someone were to practice these feelings for months, even years, they would eventually arrive at a sensation of headache as if thorns were piercing their head. This is a transition to recognizing the occult forces that have formed the brain. If the etheric forces of the brain do exactly what they must, they will find nothing that could bring these forces to the person’s consciousness. But the moment the physical brain is, in a certain sense, wounded under the influence of these feelings, the etheric body must detach itself; it must withdraw from the brain—it is driven out of the brain—and the result of this independence of the etheric head is insight. This temporary pain is merely the transition to the attainment of the powers of cognition, and this is nothing other than the objectification of what the human being did not know before. Previously, he did not know that he had a brain; now he learns to recognize the etheric forces and their activity, which have built up his brain and sustain it.

[ 12 ] There is much more that could be said on this subject. When a physical organ is separated from its etheric component, so that the etheric body cannot intervene, one feels pain. Then, once the astral body has become accustomed to this—once scarring has set in, which signifies the etheric body’s liberation—that is, when not all the forces of the etheric body are being utilized—the opposite occurs: namely, a feeling of pleasure and bliss.