The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Fourth Lecture

[ 1 ] We are too accustomed to dealing with such grand questions as those we are now considering—the questions of necessity and freedom—in such a way that we seek to encompass many things at once with simple concepts, with the simplest possible concepts, as it were, in the blink of an eye. When dealing with such questions, we usually fail to consider that they require us to pay attention to how multifaceted the interconnections of the world are—how what happens in one part of the world must be viewed in a completely different light if we are to understand it in the same way as similar events unfolding elsewhere in the world.

[ 2 ] First, I would like to reiterate something I mentioned here very recently in a different context. I said: When we see such significant events—such as the current ones—flooding the world stage, we are so inclined to quickly seek the causes in what is, so to speak, most obvious, and also to quickly expect the effects in what immediately follows in the very near future. With such an approach, we do the facts a great disservice. When I mentioned this at the time, I pointed out that, at the beginning of the Middle Ages, the world of Roman civilization stood in contrast to the world of present-day Central Europe. One can now say with a clear conscience, from a historical perspective: Well, one tries to understand how, driven by certain political motives of ancient Rome, the Romans felt compelled to launch their military campaigns against the—that is, their—north, against what is today Central Europe. And one can then look for the consequences in what subsequently took shape.

[ 3 ] But such a perspective by no means exhausts all that is relevant. For just imagine if, back then, anything had happened differently during the advance of the peoples from the East to the West across Europe, or if something had unfolded differently in the clash between Roman and Germanic cultures—the entire subsequent development of Central Europe, right up to modern times, would have taken on a different character. All the events we have witnessed unfolding over the centuries up to our own time would have unfolded differently if, back then, that ethnic substance which we find in the ancient Romans—which was unable to fully permeate, I would say precisely because of its world-historical quality, because of its characteristics—had not that world-historical substance merged with peoples who were young in world-historical terms and who embraced Christianity with youthful vigor. Through the manner in which this clash took place—between a people one might call spiritually overripe, as the Romans were, and a people young in world-historical terms, as the Germanic peoples were at that time—everything that later emerged came into being, extending, one might say, all the way to Goethe’s Faust and all that 19th-century culture brought forth. Could things have unfolded as they did if that had not happened back then? We are looking into a current, filled with an inner, law-governed necessity, which flows through world events and extends across vast, vast regions. How could anyone back then have wanted to direct their actions according to what has now unfolded on the physical plane over the course of the centuries up to the present day?

[ 4 ] What is taking place today is, in turn, the starting point for world-shaping processes that are, of course, necessarily connected to what is happening today, but which—as far as events on the physical plane are concerned—are initially very dissimilar to what is unfolding in a concentrated manner over a short period of time. I mention this only so that you may see how deeply grounded is what I have already mentioned in connection with these very reflections: that one does not get very far by brooding or speculating about the interrelationships in the world. Just think: if a Roman or even a Germanic person in the 3rd or 4th century A.D. had wanted to lose himself in speculation about the possible consequences of the battles that took place at that time, how far would he have gotten? Not very far at all!

[ 5 ] It is essential that we realize that what is to happen—so that we may recognize it as truly meant to happen—is determined by something other than such musings about the possible consequences or about what immediately results from it; that what we perceive as flowing in from the spiritual worlds—impulses whose specific effects on the physical plane do not require us to speculate about what is to happen there—actually flows into the current of events as it unfolds on the physical plane. We must be clear that it is precisely the view of human events, of world-historical events, that makes it necessary to broaden our perspective beyond what lies on the physical plane. And now that we have merely touched upon these necessities, let us once again consider the human being as such.

[ 6 ] I already pointed out last time how impossible it is to develop a proper perspective on the actions one has performed—actions that thus lie in the past—if one constantly indulges in mere brooding and speculation about them. Rather, one must realize that what is past—including one’s own past actions—belongs to the realm of necessity, and one must learn to come to terms with the idea that what has happened had to happen. That is to say, one gains a proper perspective on one’s actions when one achieves objectivity toward what one has done or accomplished in the past, when one can view—I mean—both a successful and a failed action that originated from oneself with equal objectivity.

[ 7 ] Now, of course, you must have serious objections even to what I have just said, because such serious objections do exist. Just consider that it was just said: if we have done something, it is over. It was said that we find a proper relationship to what we have done by taking an objective stance toward it, by not wishing afterward that we had done things differently. The serious objection is this: Yes, but where, then, does all that which must play such a major role in human life actually fit in—namely, the regret over an action we have carried out? Of course, the person who says, “Regret is necessary; regret must exist,” is quite right. If one were to somehow eliminate regret from the development of the human soul, one would, of course, be eliminating a moral impulse of the highest value. But isn’t one eliminating it when one simply approaches everything that has happened in such a way that one views it objectively—truly objectively?

[ 8 ] Well, here indeed lies a new difficulty—one that can be the starting point for an infinite number of misunderstandings. We must address the very heart of the problem of freedom if we are to overcome this difficulty. You see, the great Spinoza said: “Fundamentally, one can speak only of necessity in the world.” Freedom is, in essence, a kind of illusion. For when one ball is struck by another, it necessarily follows its trajectory. If it had consciousness, it would believe—so says Spinoza, as I mentioned in my Philosophy of Freedom—that it follows its trajectory of its own free will. —That is Spinoza’s view. “And so it comes to pass that human beings, while entangled in necessity, consider themselves free because they are conscious of what is happening.”

[ 9 ] But Spinoza is completely wrong—truly, completely wrong. The matter is, in fact, quite different. If a person were truly flying off somewhere like a ball that merely follows the necessity of its momentum, then—with regard to everything that constitutes his flight, where he is merely following necessity—he would have to lose consciousness. He would have to become unconscious of it. Consciousness would have to shut down. And indeed, it does. Just think for a moment about the speed at which you are moving through outer space, according to the science of astronomy! You certainly do not do this consciously. That is when consciousness switches off. You cannot even switch it on, because you would not be able to move through outer space at such breakneck speed, as the science of astronomy shows you. So for anything a person does out of necessity, consciousness must be switched off, and with such gross phenomena as flying through outer space, we very quickly realize that whatever is subject to necessity switches off consciousness. But these phenomena are not always so grossly conscious; they are more or less unconscious. For in real life, they are closely intertwined. At these boundaries, the matter cannot be grasped quite as crudely as in the case I have just cited. Rather, one can say: In everything of which we are truly conscious—of which we have unconditional consciousness—we can act only freely. If a ball had consciousness and I were to push it, then—if it truly did have consciousness—it would fly in a certain direction only if it absorbed into its consciousness the impulse I gave it, and if it then determined its own trajectory based on that impulse. The ball would first have to become unconscious—it would first have to shut off its consciousness—if it were to follow the impulse alone.

[ 10 ] If you keep this in mind, you will make a distinction that, unfortunately, people otherwise fail to make in life when it comes to their actions. For the fact that we do not make this distinction has not only theoretical significance, but also profound practical significance. Namely, in life we do not distinguish between things that fail and things that are bad or immoral. This distinction is a very significant one, an extraordinarily important one. As for a failed action—one that did not turn out as intended—it is absolutely true that we can only know the right course of action from it if we can view it objectively, as if it had been absolutely necessary. For as soon as it has passed, it belongs to the realm of absolute necessity. If we have failed at something, and we subsequently feel unease about the fact that this action failed, it is certainly true that this unease stems from egoism: we actually wanted to be a better person or would have liked to have been a better person—a person who could have handled the matter better. That is precisely the egoism that lies at the heart of it. And as long as this egoism is not eradicated at its root, the experience of our further development as a soul cannot have the profound significance that it should have.

[ 11 ] But when we have performed an action, it is not always the case that the action is a failed one; rather, it may be a bad action—what is called a morally bad action. But let’s take a look at morally bad actions. Let’s take a look, for example, at the following action, just to have something very telling right away. Let’s assume that someone has nothing to eat or would like something for a reason other than hunger, and so he steals. So “stealing,” isn’t it, is a bad action. Now, does what we’ve said rule out the possibility that someone who has stolen might feel remorse for their action? It does not rule it out! For why not, my dear friends? For the very simple reason that, in all seriousness, in all earnest, the person who stole did not actually want to steal, but rather wanted to possess what they stole. He would have refrained from stealing if you had given him what he wanted, or if he could have obtained it in some other way than by stealing.

[ 12 ] It is a striking case. But in a certain sense, this applies to everything that can actually be considered a bad deed. The bad deed as such—immediately, just as it is—is actually never intended. Language has a subtle sense of this: once the evil act is over, “the conscience stirs.” Why does the conscience stir? Because only now is the evil act elevated to the level of knowledge. It ascends into knowledge. Where it took place, there was actually something else within knowledge—the very thing for which the evil act was committed. The evil deed does not lie in the will. And remorse, too, serves the purpose of enabling the person concerned to raise it to the level of knowledge—to realize how he allowed his consciousness to be clouded at the very moment he committed the evil deed. We must always speak of it this way: When someone commits a wrong deed, what is at issue is that their consciousness was clouded and dampened for that deed, and that their task is precisely to gain an awareness of cases such as the one in which their consciousness was dampened. The sole purpose of any punishment is to summon such forces within the soul that consciousness extends even to those situations which would otherwise cause consciousness to shut down.

[ 13 ] Among the dissertations written at universities by philosophers who also deal with legal issues, the dissertation on “the right to punish” is particularly common. Many theories have been put forward regarding the reasons why punishment is necessary. The only possible explanation can be found only when one realizes that the purpose of punishment is to strain the powers of the soul in such a way that consciousness expands into spheres beyond which it had not previously extended. And this is also the task of repentance. Repentance should consist precisely in viewing the act in such a way that its force raises it into consciousness, so that consciousness now grasps the context in such a way that it cannot be shut out again the next time. You see what matters: that one learns to distinguish precisely in life, if one wishes to understand something—that one truly learns to distinguish between fully conscious action and that for which consciousness has been lowered.

[ 14 ] If, on the other hand, you are dealing with an action that is not even open to consideration as to whether it is good or bad, but is simply a failed action—in which we have merely failed to achieve what we had intended—then the issue is that we can actually cloud our own view of the action if we judge it in such a way that we introduce the thought, the feeling: “Yes, perhaps it wouldn’t have turned out this way if we had done this or that better, or if we ourselves had been different?” Here it is important to truly consider the following: When the eye is meant to see an object, it cannot see itself. It cannot hold up a mirror to itself, for the moment the eye holds up the mirror to see itself, it cannot see the object. The moment a person speculates about how they should have acted differently in response to an action they have taken, that action cannot exert upon them the force that propels them forward in their spiritual development. For the moment one interposes between oneself and one’s action the selfishness inherent in the fact that one actually would have wanted to act differently—at that very moment, one is doing exactly the same thing as when one holds a mirror before one’s eye, so that the eye cannot see the object.

[ 15 ] You can also frame the comparison differently. As you know, there are what are called astigmatic eyes. These are eyes in which the curvature of the cornea differs between the vertical and horizontal directions. Such eyes exhibit a peculiar type of blurred vision. One sees ghosts, which is simply due to the fact that the cornea is curved irregularly. One sees ghosts, but this stems from the fact that one is actually perceiving one’s own eye and not what is outside. When one perceives one’s own eye—because it is incorrectly constructed, because it has not become an eye that can completely shut itself out and allow only the object to take effect within the eye—then one cannot perceive the object. If one fills one’s soul with the thought: “You could have been different; you should have done this or that differently, then you would have succeeded,” then this is just like having an astigmatic eye: one does not see the real facts at all; one distorts them. But one must see the real facts that have been given to one; only then do they truly take effect. Just as the object outside affects a healthy eye, so do they affect a soul that is not filled with feelings about facts, but rather allows the facts themselves to take effect upon it. Then these facts continue to take effect within the soul.

[ 16 ] One might say: Someone who has not yet attained objectivity toward past events in which they were involved cannot see those events in their objectivity and therefore cannot derive from them what they should gain for their soul. It would be just as if our eyes were to stop developing in the sixth or seventh month of their embryonic development—if the eyes were to cease developing and we were then born at the right time—we would see the whole world incorrectly. If the eyes did not continue to develop with us in the sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth months, but instead stopped developing—they would not shut down. We would see something completely different from what we actually see.

[ 17 ] What we have done only acquires its true value for us when we have reached the point where we can place it within the flow of necessity, when we can regard it as something necessary. But as I said, we must be clear that it is precisely then that we must distinguish between what has succeeded and what has failed, and that which is labeled “good” or “bad” in a moral sense.

[ 18 ] Essentially, you will find the discussions on all of this—albeit framed in a more philosophical manner—in my Philosophy of Freedom, for in this Philosophy of Freedom it is explicitly explored how human beings become free by attaining that which enables them to draw impulses from the spiritual world. At one point it is even explicitly stated: Free impulses emanate from the spiritual world. — But this does not preclude the fact that human beings act, so to speak, most freely with regard to certain events precisely because they are following necessity in a very particular way. For one must distinguish between purely external physical necessity and spiritual necessity, although both are, in essence, quite the same. But they differ, one might say, in terms of the stratification within world existence in which they are situated.

[ 19 ] Here’s the thing: Consider, for example, a figure like Goethe, who made his mark on world history and of whom one can say: We can trace the upbringing of a person like Goethe; we can see how he became what he is, and then trace the impulses that guided him to create his Faust and his other poetic works. In a sense, we can regard everything Goethe accomplished as a result of his upbringing. And now we see Goethe’s genius presented before us. Certainly, we can do that. In doing so, we remain entirely within Goethe himself. But you see, we can do it differently. We can trace the intellectual development of the 18th century. Take specific details from it. Take, for example, the fact that before Goethe even conceived of a Faust, Lessing had already planned a Faust—that a Faust already existed. One could say that the idea of Faust arose from the intellectual problems the era was grappling with, from the intellectual impulses of the time. One can now say, upon examining Lessing’s Faust and a host of other such Faust-like works: it all led to Faust. One can, so to speak, leave Goethe out of the picture, and one still arrives at Faust as a matter of necessity. Faust emerged from what came before. One can thus trace Goethe’s development and arrive at his Faust. One can place Goethe in the context of this development, but one can also omit him entirely; one can then rigorously trace how a poetic genre such as the Nibelungen emerged in Europe, how this crystallized into the Parzival epic, how Parzival is a striving human being, emerging from a certain phase of development, how another phase of development then arose, how, through that other development, the Parzival idea was indeed completely forgotten and that remarkable idea took hold—the one that found expression in the folk tale of Faust—and which then gave rise to Faust, one might say a Parzival of a later age. One can leave Goethe out entirely. Of course, one need not be pedantic here; fifty years make no difference. Time is elastic; it can stretch forward and backward, so that is not what matters. In this sense—that time plays a role—only the Ahrimanic forces at work in the world are affected. That which originates from the good gods can certainly be shifted forward or backward in time. But one can generally say: even if Kaspar Goethe and his wife Aja, members of the Frankfurt City Council, had not had a son named Wolfgang—or if their son Wolfgang, who, as you know, was born out of wedlock and was close to dying immediately after birth—had died right after birth, then something like the Faust poem would certainly have come into being through someone else. Or if Goethe had lived in the 14th century, he certainly would not have written Faust. These are, of course, unrealistic thoughts. But one must sometimes hold them before one’s mind in order to grasp what is real.

[ 20 ] So one might now ask: Did Goethe create Faust—or indeed his life’s work as a whole—out of his own freedom, or was there an absolute necessity at work here? The greatest freedom exists when one does what is historically necessary! For anyone who believes that freedom could ever be endangered by what exists as necessity in the world should just go ahead and say: I want to create poetry, but I am a person who wants to work with absolute freedom! So I will set aside all other poets who were unfree; I want to create free poetry. But I could not be free if I wanted to use the words that exist in language, for they are, after all, the result of age-old necessity. Well, that’s not possible, of course! I want to be a complete hero of freedom. So I’ll create my own language.—And now he begins, first of all, to create his own language. Yes, he would, of course, end up being rejected by the whole world for his poetry—which would then appear in a language that does not yet exist—and he would have to use his freedom to provoke the resistance of the entire world, which, naturally, would initially manifest itself only as a lack of understanding. You can see from this that there can be no question of freedom—which intervenes in the flow of events—feeling in any way compromised by the necessity inherent in the ongoing current of world events.

[ 21 ] One could also imagine a painter who wanted to be completely free, and who would say: Yes, I do want to paint, but I don’t want to paint on canvas or on any surface at all; I want to paint freely. Should I first try to paint on a surface that is given to me? I will not do that! For then I am forced to follow the contours of that surface everywhere. — But this surface has a very specific set of rules. One follows them, but that in no way prevents one from developing freedom.

[ 22 ] It is precisely in the context of major events in world history that one truly encounters how what one might call “necessity,” when consciousness is at play, can come into direct conflict with freedom, where self-awareness is at play. As I have already said: Goethe could not have created Faust in the 14th century, for it is absolutely impossible that Faust could have come into being in the 14th century. He could not have written Faust. Why not? Because there is something that must be described as a void in world history with regard to certain developmental impulses. Just as you cannot pour water into a barrel if the barrel is already full of water, or as you can pour only a certain amount of water into a barrel if it is already partially filled with water, so you cannot pour anything into a time that is already fulfilled in any arbitrary way. In the 14th century, there was no emptiness for something like what flowed down from the spiritual world into the physical world through a human being in Faust; rather, there was fullness. Events unfold in cycles, and when a cycle is fulfilled, emptiness sets in to make way for new impulses, which can then enter into the course of world events. A cycle must first be fulfilled in terms of content, and emptiness must then set in with regard to that cycle. Only then can new impulses enter into that emptiness. With regard to the impulses that flowed down from the spiritual world through Goethe into the physical world, emptiness had set in within the cultural development in which Goethe was embedded. And development proceeds in such a way that it truly unfolds in waves: emptiness—supreme fulfillment—then ebbing back into emptiness. Then something new can enter.

[ 23 ] A person standing between death and a new birth then arranges his incarnation accordingly. He arranges his incarnation in such a way that, in the physical world, he encounters the degree of emptiness or fulfillment that is right for his impulses. Someone who brings with them from their previous incarnations impulses that can act as impulses of the very highest order—and thus must fall into emptiness—must appear during a period when there is emptiness in the world. Those who have impulses that must first be received anew by the world must, with their new incarnation, enter a period where fulfillment can be found for that emptiness. Of course, this applies to a wide variety of fields, which intersect with one another. That goes without saying. So we see from this that, in a certain sense—if we may use the term—we choose the moment when we descend into the world according to the inner qualities we possess. And the inner necessity with which we act is determined by this.

[ 24 ] If you now take this into account, you will no longer find any contradiction when you observe the successive events in the flow of time and say to yourself: Parzival and so on, Faust—it goes on like that—and then comes Goethe, and from within him emerges that which can, however, just as well be understood within the successive flow of time. You will no longer perceive any contradiction, because Goethe looked down from above, and what was then taking shape within him was prepared there, which could then become a work on the outside. Thus, while on the physical plane, he allows what he has absorbed—precisely during the preceding centuries in which the flowing events took place—to stream forth from within him. There is just as little contradiction between these two statements—“Goethe’s work had to be produced at a specific time” and “Goethe produced it freely”—as if I had a board here, and here I had 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 balls—that is, a row of balls. Then I come along with a small cup and say: I’ll pour the first ball into the cup, the second ball into the cup, the third ball into the cup, the fourth ball, and so on, and here I’ll empty them out. But then someone says: The balls lying there now are surely the same balls that were there before. “No,” says another, “those are the marbles that were inside the cup; I took them out of there.”

[ 25 ] Both claims can certainly coexist. What unfolded over time—what ultimately led to Faust—is precisely what took root in Goethe’s soul, and it comes from Goethe’s soul because it accumulated there through observations drawn down from the spiritual world. For we always participate in the entire development of the world. If we now consider this, we will be able to say to ourselves: At the very moment we look back into the past, we must regard the past itself as something necessary. And when we look at ourselves and bring the past back into the present—provided we bring it forth consciously—we nevertheless introduce into the present, through freedom, that which was necessarily prepared in the past. Thus, the one who can develop the full awareness that “with what I do, I do nothing other than what is spiritually necessary” can be the freest of all. Things cannot be understood through pedantic logic; rather, they can only be perceived through a fully living grasp of reality.

[ 26 ] There is one more way we can help ourselves to fully understand the matter. Let’s ask ourselves: Well, let’s take a look at animals, for example. Their consciousness is lowered. We know they have a lower level of consciousness. I have explained this many times. Let’s look at human beings: they have a level of consciousness that allows freedom to assert itself. What, then, about the consciousness of the angels—that is, those beings who stand immediately above human beings? What about the consciousness of the angels?

[ 27 ] It is actually very difficult to immediately grasp the consciousness of the Angeloi. You see, when a human being wants to do something, they think about how what they want to do should be. And one has failed if the mental image one had of what would happen on the physical plane does not actually occur there. If someone sews two pieces of fabric together, and once they’re sewn, they come apart, then the action has failed. Yes, that can happen even with a sewing machine. Then the action has failed. So, if the mental image one has conceived for the physical plane does not come to pass, then one says: the act has failed. That is to say, one directs one’s will toward something that one imagines, based on the image of how it should be on the physical plane. This is how willing occurs in human beings. It is not so with the angels.

[ 28 ] With the Angeloi, everything lies in intention. An Angeloi’s intention can be carried out in a wide variety of ways, and yet the effect can be exactly the same. This is certainly true, but it is, of course, something that—I would say—seems to defy conventional logic. Only in the realm of art—if one approaches art from a human perspective—can one feel a sense of connection to this awareness. For you will always find that when the artist is able to approach his work from a human perspective—he need not always be in a position to do so, but when he can— then, under certain circumstances, he may consider that which he has achieved in the opposite way—or which has even failed him—to be of greater value than that which he has achieved precisely by executing it exactly as it should have been. Here one comes a little closer to the extraordinarily difficult-to-conceive idea that, in the consciousness of the angels, in the will of the angels, everything depends on intentions, and that these intentions can be realized on the physical plane in the most diverse ways, indeed even in the most opposite ways. That is to say, when an angel sets out to do something, he sets out to do something quite specific, but not in the sense that he says: “On the physical plane, it must look like this or that.” That is not part of it at all. He will only know that once it is there.

[ 29 ] We have seen, and I have pointed out, that this is true even of the Elohim. The Elohim created the light, and they saw that the light was good. This means that what is primary for human beings—the mental image of what exists on the physical plane—is not at all the primary concern in the consciousness of the spiritual beings who stand above humanity; rather, the primary concern is the intention, and how it is carried out is an entirely different matter. Now, in this regard, human beings are, of course, the intermediate beings between animals and angels. Therefore, on the one hand, they tend to lean more toward the unconsciousness of animals. Wherever criminal behavior comes to light, it is essentially the animal nature that causes this in human beings. But on the other hand, they also tend upward—I would say—toward the consciousness of the angels. It is indeed true that human beings carry within themselves the potential to develop a higher consciousness beyond ordinary consciousness, in which intentions present themselves to them in a different way than is usually the case with ordinary consciousness.

[ 30 ] One might simply say: Let’s assume that, as a human being, one engages with important life issues. Then one cannot proceed with one’s intentions the way one usually does. Let’s assume, for example, that as an educator—but an educator in the true sense of the word—one is tasked with raising a child. Isn’t it true that the average person has their own principles of upbringing, their own pedagogical principles? They know when to use corporal punishment and when not to, and perhaps even that they should never use it at all, and so on. They know how to do this and how to do that. But anyone who views the matter from the standpoint of a higher consciousness will not always judge in this way; rather, they will leave everything to life itself. They will wait to see what they can observe. They will set only one goal for themselves: the intention to achieve what seems to them to be the child’s natural disposition. But what appears to be his destiny can be achieved in many different ways. That is what this is all about.

[ 31 ] So, when we take all these things together, we will now also see how, in order to understand the whole human being in terms of necessity and freedom, we must consider both the outwardly physical aspect of the human being and the inner aspect—that is, first and foremost, the etheric. If we look solely at the human etheric body: I have already drawn your attention to how the human etheric body follows entirely different paths than the physical body. The human physical body—as I once told you—is young at first. It then develops, grows older, and finally becomes senile. The etheric body does the opposite. When we say we “age” with regard to the physical body, we must actually say that we “grow younger” with regard to the etheric body. For the etheric body is, in fact—if we wish to use the words “old” and “young”—an old man when we are born, for then it is all wrinkled up, so small that it fits only us. When we reach a normal age and die, this etheric body has once again become so rejuvenated that we can hand it over to the whole world, and it can once again appear young to the outside world. While the physical body ages, the etheric body “rejuvenates.” It becomes younger and younger.

[ 32 ] If we die at an abnormal time—if we die young—then the etheric body can indeed have meanings such as those I have mentioned to you. But we must consider this distinction between the physical body and the etheric body not only in relation to aging, for example, but also in relation to necessity and freedom. Then, when a human being is most bound by necessity with regard to what they accomplish with their physical body—or indeed as a being on the physical plane in general—their etheric body is at its freest; their etheric body is entirely left to its own devices. With regard to everything in which we are bound by necessity, the etheric body is left to its own devices. With regard to everything in which the etheric body becomes bound by necessity, that which the human being develops on the physical plane is encompassed by freedom. Thus, while the physical body is subject to necessity, the etheric body possesses an equal measure of freedom; and while the etheric body is subject to necessity, that which concerns the physical body possesses a certain measure of freedom. What does this mean?

[ 33 ] So let’s suppose for a moment: You cannot say that you are completely free to get up and go to sleep whenever you want. You get up in the morning and go to sleep at night. There can be no question of freedom here. This is tied to the ironclad necessities of life. And even if you were somehow able to vary the times you get up and go to sleep, there can be no question of freedom at all. You also eat every day. There can be no question of freedom there either. You cannot decide to break through this necessity and seek your freedom by, for example, not eating, because you would perceive that as a compulsion to eat. In all these respects, the human being is bound by necessities. Why is he bound by necessities? Because the companion—as I said last time—who is within him, who accompanies him throughout life here on the physical plane with everything connected to the physical plane, is bound by necessity, because he now lives in freedom. But if we now enter into necessity with our inner being, with the etheric body, how can this happen? Precisely by consciously surrendering ourselves to what we recognize as a necessity. For example, by saying to ourselves: “Now is the time when those who are ready for it, who can see this, should engage with Spiritual Science.” Of course, no one is outwardly compelled to do so. But one can recognize it as an inner necessity, because it is necessary in the present cycle of humanity. In this way, one submits to necessity out of freedom. Nothing compels one externally on the physical plane. Internally, one must, so to speak, follow the compulsion out of freedom. There, the etheric body creates for itself the impulse that permeates it with necessity. In this way, the etheric body creates the necessity for itself and thereby places itself in a position to freely develop whatever occurs in relation to the physical plane. This means that one comes to know spiritual necessity and thereby becomes more and more free for everything that constitutes life on the physical plane.

[ 34 ] Now you might say: So, by finding oneself in a spiritual necessity, one should actually become freer for life on the physical plane. That is indeed the case. By connecting with the spiritual current in the world, by allowing the stream of the spiritual to flow through oneself, one does in fact absorb elements that free one from being chained to the physical world. Of course, one cannot break free from what has been assigned to one through one’s previous incarnation, through one’s karma. But if one does not free oneself from the necessary conditions of the physical plane in the manner described—through an awareness of spiritual necessity—then after death one remains bound to these necessary conditions of the physical plane and carries them along. One carries the necessities of the physical plane with one through the life between death and a new birth. One does not become free of them. At every moment, one becomes freer and freer from the necessities of the physical plane to the extent that one connects, through one’s etheric body, with the necessities of the spiritual plane. It is indeed true that when one can, of one’s own free will, follow an impulse recognized purely in the spiritual realm, one becomes ever freer from all that would otherwise chain one to physical life—a chain that extends far beyond death. Conversely, with regard to all that to which one is chained in physical life—that which cannot be changed—the etheric body itself becomes ever freer and freer.

[ 35 ] And so we can see how freedom and necessity interact on the physical plane, but also how freedom and necessity interact within the etheric body. The etheric body derives its freedom from the necessity of the physical plane, and it must recognize this necessity for itself. The physical body, in turn, derives its freedom precisely from the fact that the etheric body recognizes its necessity, and this necessity is given to it by the way in which it has karmically positioned itself within the entire course of the physical plane.

[ 36 ] Thus, the freely necessary physical human being and the necessarily free spiritual-soul human being interact organically with one another. Freedom and necessity are always intertwined. But it is impossible for us to be subject to pure necessity when we are fully conscious. By penetrating something with consciousness—that is, by taking it in in a way that allows us to be fully aware of it—freedom reigns in our soul. In this way, we lift ourselves out of necessity with our soul and make ourselves free for that of which we are conscious. Yes, but what if we now recognize a necessity spiritually—if we recognize precisely that it is necessary at the present time to embrace the current of Spiritual Science—if, in a sense, we freely submit ourselves to a necessity? Does this also make us unconscious? In a certain sense, yes! We make ourselves unconscious in a certain sense, for we resolve to unfold our consciousness just far enough to reach the gateway into which flows and shines that which is to come from the spiritual world. But then we receive what is to come from the spiritual world, and we incline ourselves toward the ruling, active forces that descend to us from the spiritual world. That is why we speak of working our way upward by working our way into spiritual necessity, toward the beings who incline toward us. That is why we will always emphasize this: We soar with our consciousness toward the beings who permeate us, who pulse through us from the spiritual world, and we expect—as we tell ourselves: “We must necessarily align ourselves with the impulses coming from the spiritual world”—we expect that through this, the impulses of higher spiritual beings will simultaneously sink into our own impulses. And through this, that relative, that deep unconsciousness comes to light, where we effectively perceive what is spiritually at work within us in the same way as an unconscious action, where we are truly certain: The Spirit is within us, and where we may follow it. Yes, where we may follow it.

[ 37 ] Now we return to our starting point. If one were to consciously ponder what follows from such significant events as those of the present, for example—I compared them earlier to the Roman-Germanic wars—if one were to ponder them with ordinary consciousness, one would come to nothing. But the moment one can say to oneself, “I do not want to attain the truth through brooding, but rather by allowing the spiritual to flow in, by surrendering to the spiritual impulse,” then there is no need to brood. Then one knows that these spiritual impulses, if one simply allows oneself to be carried away by them, lead to what is right; they lead to currents that extend beyond the centuries and even beyond the millennia. That is what is important.

[ 38 ] Then one says: There is no need to think that things must go this way today and that way tomorrow so that this, that, and the other can happen; rather, one tells oneself: We are currently living in that period of human history, in that epoch, where the further development of earthly existence can proceed in the right way only by directly receiving spiritual impulses from the spiritual world. So they must be received. And what happens outwardly on the physical plane must necessarily connect with this—connect in the right way. Then what is right will happen. Then one will know, without having to ponder what tomorrow or the day after tomorrow will bring, that this will come to pass—that the souls now passing through the gate of death will be at work, both in their etheric bodies and as souls, insofar as the thoughts of those who will in the future populate the earth on the blood-fertilized fields are united with them, so that something will arise from this that will work through the centuries. But one must have this consciousness directly, possess this consciousness just as we have often expressed it with the words:

From the courage of the fighters,
From the blood of the battles,
From the suffering of the forsaken,
From the sacrifices of the people
The fruit of the spirit grows
Guiding souls, spiritually aware,
Toward the realm of the spirit.

[ 39 ] So this is what it is all about: that we come to realize that, from a certain point onward in the present, souls who are willing to direct their consciousness toward the spiritual realm must become spiritually conscious. Then what is happening now will become what is right for the future. To be imbued with this thought requires a firm trust, such as that possessed by the beings we count among the hierarchy of the Angeloi. For the Angeloi act out of such trust. They know that if they have the right intentions, then what is right will arise from those right intentions. Not by planning a specific course of future events, but by having the right intentions. These right intentions, however, can only be grasped spiritually. As for how something is to be grasped spiritually, only thinking in the spirit of Spiritual Science—in the manner we have attempted here—can truly provide us with guidance.