The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Earth-Death and Universal-Life VI

[ 1 ] A week ago today, we spoke about more intimate aspects of human soul life—questions that are suited to preparing our minds for concepts concerning the relationship between the so-called living, that is, human beings living in physical bodies, and the disembodied souls—those human beings who live between death and a new birth. Now, the point is that, precisely when we discuss such a topic, we must familiarize ourselves with certain fundamental concepts that can properly introduce us, on a soul level, to the way in which a human being should—and can—conceive of themselves within such a relationship. For the reality of this relationship does not depend at all on whether the human being living here on Earth is aware that he or she stands in some kind of relationship to a deceased person or, indeed, in any relationship at all to this or that being of the spiritual world. What I am saying now is actually self-evident to anyone who reflects on these matters; but it is precisely in the field of spiritual science that it is sometimes necessary to make the self-evident perfectly clear to oneself.

[ 2 ] Human beings are always in relation to the spiritual world; they are also always in a certain relationship with those who have passed away and with whom they are karmically connected. It is therefore quite a different matter to speak of the reality of this relationship than to speak of the greater or lesser degree of awareness we may have of it. It is important, however, for everyone—even for those who can only believe that such awareness is entirely beyond their reach—to learn what such awareness reveals; for it actually reveals to each person realities in which they are constantly immersed. Precisely with regard to the relationship of so-called living human beings to the so-called dead, one must realize one thing: this relationship is, in a certain sense, more difficult to bring into consciousness than the relationship to other beings of the spiritual world. To gain a visual, contemplative awareness of the beings of the higher hierarchies—and indeed to receive certain revelations from the higher hierarchies—is relatively easier than becoming aware of a very specific relationship to the dead, that is, becoming aware of it in a truly correct way. And this is for the following reason.

[ 3 ] As we know, during the time between death and a new birth, human beings live under conditions of existence that are very different from those of the physical world. You need only take a look at what is said in the lecture series “The Inner Nature of the Human Being and Life Between Death and a New Birth,” and you will see what concepts and ideas—different from those of the physical worldview—must be applied in order to speak about life between death and a new birth. Why, then, are these concepts—which one must apply here—so different from what one is accustomed to in ordinary consciousness? This is because, due to certain conditions—which we will also have to discuss in the course of this winter—the human being, between death and new birth, already anticipates in a certain way what will be the conditions of life in the next earthly incarnation, the Jupiter nature. The human being does indeed live, one might say, in a state of spiritual refinement; he lives in such a way that what he now experiences between death and rebirth already recalls what the initial conditions of life in the Jupiter stage will be. Because human beings have, in a certain sense, retained something here in their life during their earthly incarnation from their earlier earthly incarnations—from their lunar, solar, and Saturnian existences—they therefore take in something of the future once again in the life they undergo between death and a new birth. In contrast, the beings of the higher hierarchies—insofar as they can be perceived by human vision—are all connected—connected in a present way—admittedly, of course, with the entire spiritual world, but with the spiritual world insofar as it is already manifesting itself in some form at the present time. They will reveal the future in the future. As paradoxical as what I am now saying may sound in a certain sense, it is nevertheless true. It sounds paradoxical for the reason that the question may arise as to how the beings of the higher hierarchies carry out their activity [with regard] to the dead, since the dead already bear the future within themselves. Of course, the beings of the higher hierarchies also carry the future within themselves and possess the capacity to shape the future. But they do not do so without first shaping something that is immediately characteristic of the present. This, however, is the case with the dead. For this reason, becoming aware of communication with the dead—as a kind of preparation, so to speak—involves observing what the higher hierarchies accomplish. And only when one has brought about, with one’s soul, a more or less conscious sensation toward the beings of the higher hierarchies does it gradually become possible for that soul—on the basis of its capacity for perception and sensation toward the higher hierarchies—to bring something concerning communication with the dead into consciousness. By this I do not mean that one must perceive the higher hierarchies clairvoyantly, but one must understand—to the extent that spiritual science offers the possibility to do so—what flows into existence from the higher hierarchies. In all these matters, understanding is what matters. However, when one makes an effort to understand these things through spiritual science, the conditions of existence may arise that already evoke in consciousness something of a connection between the so-called living and the so-called dead. To understand this, it is necessary to consider the following:

[ 4 ] The spiritual world, in which a person exists between death and rebirth, has its own very special conditions of existence—conditions that we hardly ever take into account in our ordinary earthly life, and which, when presented within a certain worldview, sound quite paradoxical and seem rather strange to us. Above all, it must be emphasized that if a person wishes to consciously perceive such things, they must first and foremost cultivate a feeling that I would like to call a genuine sense of community with the things of existence. It is, in fact, a necessity for the continuation of humanity’s spiritual development from the present on—from this catastrophic present on—that human beings gradually develop this sense of communion with the things of existence. In the subconscious, this sense of communion is certainly present, albeit in a rudimentary form. But we must not, as the pantheists do, prattle on in general terms about a universal spirit; we must not speak of this sense of community in such general terms; rather, we must clarify for ourselves, in concrete, individual terms, how one can speak of such a sense of community and how it gradually builds itself up in the soul. For this sense of community is the result of life. The following comes into consideration.

[ 5 ] You have probably heard many times that when criminal types—in whom instinctive drives are very strong on a subconscious level—have done something, committed some act, they possess a peculiar instinct: they are drawn back to the scene of the crime, seek out the place where the act took place; an indefinable feeling drives them there. But in such cases, what is generally human in relation to many things is expressed only in specific instances. For when we have done anything at all—even the seemingly most insignificant act—something remains within us—one cannot put it any other way, though it is, of course, again expressed in a kind of imagination—of what we have done, of the thing we have touched in the act; a certain force from the thing we have touched, with which we have done something, remains connected to our “I.” Human beings cannot help but form certain connections with all the beings they encounter and with the things they touch—by which I do not, of course, mean merely physical contact—with which they do something in life. We leave our marks everywhere, and the feeling of being connected to the things we have come into contact with through our actions remains present in our subconscious. This is expressed in an abnormal way in the types of people I have just spoken of, because the subconscious very instinctively shines up into ordinary consciousness; but in the subconscious, everyone has the feeling that they must return to that with which they have come into contact through their actions.

[ 6 ] That is also what forms the basis of our karma; that is where our karma comes from. And from this subconscious feeling, which at first creeps into our existence only vaguely, we derive our general sense of communion with the world. Because we actually leave our marks everywhere, we have such a sense of communion with the world. One can, I would say, catch a glimpse of this sense of communion—one can perceive it for oneself. To do so, however, one must take certain intimate aspects of life into account. One must try to truly empathize with the following image: You are now walking across a street—and then walk the length of the street, and after you have walked it, keep imagining yourself walking. By constantly evoking this image of walking, one draws this general sense of community with the world from the depths of one’s soul. For those who become aware of this sense of community in a more concrete sense, it develops in such a way that they ultimately say to themselves: There is indeed a connection—albeit an invisible one—to all things, just as there is between the parts of a single organism. Just as every finger, every earlobe—everything that is part of our organism—belongs to us, and just as one part is connected to another, so too is there a connection between all things and everything that happens, insofar as those events affect our world.

[ 7 ] Present-day human beings on Earth simply do not yet have a fully developed awareness of this communal aspect, this organic interpenetration of things. It is not yet present in their consciousness; it remains in the unconscious. During the Jupiter phase of evolution, this feeling will be the fundamental one, and as we gradually move from the fifth post-Atlantean cultural epoch into the sixth, we are laying the groundwork for the development of such a feeling, so that its development—which will become necessary from our present epoch into the near future—must provide a particularly ethical foundation, a particularly moral foundation for humanity, one that must become far more vibrant than anything of its kind exists today. This is meant in the following way.

[ 8 ] Even today, some people still don’t think there’s anything wrong with enriching themselves at the expense of others or living off others. Not only do people fail to subject this “living off others” to any serious moral self-criticism, they don’t even give it a second thought. For if they did think about it, they would find that one person lives at the expense of another far more than people realize. In fact, everyone lives at the expense of others. Now, the awareness will develop that living at the expense of others—even within a community—is the same as if any organ of an organism were to develop unlawfully at the expense of another organ, and that the happiness of an individual is in reality impossible without the happiness of the whole. Of course, people do not yet suspect this today, but it must gradually become a fundamental principle of true human morality. Today, everyone strives first and foremost for their own happiness, without considering that their own happiness is fundamentally possible only through the happiness of everyone else.

[ 9 ] So there is a connection between the sense of community I spoke of and the feeling that, in fact, the whole of community life is an organism. This can intensify greatly—it can intensify extraordinarily for a person. He can develop an intimate sense of oneness with the things around him. As they deepen this intimate sense, they gain the ability to gradually perceive what I described in the last lecture as that veil cast over our development between death and rebirth—the veil we perceive and from which we form our karma. I simply want to point this out. But when one cultivates that sense of togetherness, one gains something else as well: namely, the ability to truly live with another person’s idiosyncrasies, situations, thoughts, and actions as if they were one’s own. This presents a certain difficulty for the spiritual life: to empathize with another person to such an extent that what they do, think, and feel is experienced by us as if it were our own. But if one wishes to reflect fruitfully on what one shared with the deceased—those who were karmically connected to one during their lifetime—then one can only succeed in truly reach them as disembodied beings only if one is able to recall what one experienced together with them—even if it is the smallest thing—in the same way one thinks when one has that sense of togetherness. So imagine thinking of something that took place between you and a deceased person—such as when you sat at the table with them, went for a walk, or something else—even if, as mentioned, it was the smallest thing. But the soul has the ability to truly immerse itself in the situation—so that it reaches reality—only if it genuinely possesses this sense of togetherness; otherwise, it lacks the strength to immerse itself in the matter. For understand this well: Only from such a place—if I may speak figuratively, but you will understand me—onto which we project this sense of togetherness, can the deceased bring themselves into our consciousness. You can imagine this quite spatially. Of course, you will have to keep in mind that you are merely imagining a picture, but you are imagining a picture of true reality.

[ 10 ] I’d like to return to what I said earlier: You imagine a specific situation, such as sitting at a table with a deceased person or going for a walk with them; then your entire inner life is directed toward that thought. If, in this thought, you develop with the deceased only such a spiritual communion as corresponds to this sense of togetherness, then his gaze from the spiritual world can find this thought just as your thought—the direction of your thoughts—finds the reality toward which these thoughts are directed. By allowing this thought of the deceased to be lovingly present in your soul to the degree I have indicated, you align your soul’s gaze with that of the deceased. Through this, the deceased can speak to you. He can speak to you only from the place toward which the direction of your sense of togetherness with him is directed. This is how things are connected. Let us, so to speak, learn to feel our karma by gaining an understanding of how we leave traces of our thoughts everywhere. If we thereby learn to identify with these things, we develop the feeling that brings us into an ever more conscious connection with the dead. Only then is it possible for the deceased to speak to us.

[ 11 ] The other thing that is necessary is that we be able to hear it, that we be able to truly perceive it over time. Above all, we must take into account what must, so to speak, serve as the “air” between us and the deceased, so that he can speak to us. If I were to compare it to something physical: If there were a vacuum here between us, you would not be able to hear what I am saying; the air must convey it. Similarly, there must be something between the living and the dead if the dead are to reach us. There must be, so to speak, a spiritual air, and we can now discuss what this spiritual air consists of, in which we live together with the dead. What does this spiritual air consist of?

[ 12 ] If we want to understand this, we must recall what I have already explained in another context, namely how human memory comes about; for all these things are interconnected. Conventional psychology says the following about human memory: I now have an impression from the external world, which evokes a mental image within me; this mental image somehow wanders through my subconscious, it is forgotten, and when there is a specific trigger, it emerges from the subconscious again, and then I remember. — For in fact, when it comes to memory, almost all schools of psychology share the notion that one first forms a mental image based on an impression; after some time, this image is no longer present—it has been forgotten and wanders about in the subconscious—and then, through some occasion, it resurfaces into consciousness. One recalls it and believes one has the same mental image that one first formed, But this is complete nonsense—nonsense that is taught almost without exception in all schools of psychology, yet remains nonsense nonetheless. For what is being described here does not happen at all. When we form an impression through an external experience and later recall it, the initial mental image does not resurface within us at all. Rather, while we are now imagining, another subconscious process is taking place—a second process; it simply does not come to consciousness during the external experience, but it is taking place nonetheless. And through processes that I do not wish to discuss now, what took place today—but remained unconscious—will play out again tomorrow in our organism. And just as today the external impression evokes the mental image, so tomorrow what has been set in motion down there will evoke the new mental image. A mental image I have today passes away; it is no longer there. It does not linger in the subconscious; rather, if I recall the same mental image from memory tomorrow, it is because there is something within me that evokes that very same mental image. But this was generated subconsciously. Anyone who believes that ideas are absorbed by our subconscious, wander around in it, and eventually resurface from the soul—if such a person wants to remember in, say, three days that something came to them that they do not want to forget and that they might write down—should then simply imagine right away: The person they want to remember is also present within what they have written down, and after three days, this person will then “walk” out of the notebook again. — Just as only symbols have been entered into the notebook, so too is there only a symbol in memory, and this symbol evokes—albeit to a lesser degree—what we have experienced. One could cite various points from the humanities in this regard—we will do so later, and that will make what I am now explaining perfectly clear—but today I want to mention just one thing.

[ 13 ] Anyone who wants to memorize or somehow teach themselves something they want to retain—what is often called “cramming” in one’s youth—knows full well that the process that takes place when one merely perceives something is not enough; rather, one sometimes resorts to quite external aids in order to commit something to memory. Just observe someone who is trying to “cram” something into their memory, and you’ll see the efforts they make to assist this unconscious process that is taking place. They’re trying to help the subconscious in some way. These are two entirely different things: committing something to memory and visualizing it in the present. If you study people and observe their characters, you will soon discover—as the study of human nature also shows—that there are two distinct aspects at play here: You will find that there are people who grasp things quickly but have a terribly poor memory; and conversely, there are people who are incredibly slow when it comes to quickly grasping a matter, but who have a good memory—namely, a good capacity for imagination and judgment. These two qualities exist side by side, and in many respects, spiritual science will first have to draw attention to the true state of affairs in reality.

[ 14 ] When we perceive this or that in life—and we do indeed take in something of the world from early morning, from the moment we wake up until we fall asleep—we form our sympathies or antipathies more or less consciously based on what we perceive, and we are usually satisfied once we have grasped something. This activity, however, which then leads to memory, is much more extensive than that which is necessary for perceiving impressions. A great deal actually takes place subconsciously in our soul, and these subconscious processes sometimes contradict, in a curious way, what is happening consciously within us. It may sometimes happen that we feel aversion toward an impression that something makes on us. The subconscious does not feel this aversion at all; indeed, it perceives impressions quite differently from ordinary consciousness. For the subconscious develops a peculiar sensation toward all impressions—a sensation that I can describe only as—though it is always only a comparison when applying terms taken from the physical world to the spiritual realm; yet the term fits very well here—as I would like to say: The subconscious always develops, regardless of what is going on in the conscious mind, a certain feeling of gratitude toward every impression. — It is not at all incorrect for me to say that a person may be standing before you, and the conscious impression you have of them may be terribly unpleasant to you. That person may hurl the most crude insults in your face, yet the subconscious impression of them evokes a certain sense of gratitude. This sense of gratitude exists for the simple reason that everything in life that touches the deeper elements of our being enriches our lives—truly enriches them. Even all unpleasant impressions enrich our lives. This has nothing to do with how we must consciously respond to external impressions. Whether we have to react in one way or another on a conscious level has nothing to do with what is happening subconsciously. In the subconscious, everything simply leads to a certain sense of gratitude. The subconscious accepts every impression as a gift for which it must be grateful. That is what we do in our subconscious.

[ 15 ] It is extremely important to take a close look at this fact, which lies just below the threshold of consciousness. What is at work there and finds expression in a feeling of gratitude operates within us in a similar way to what enters us as an impression from the outside world—and what is then to become a memory—it proceeds alongside our imagination, and only the human being who also gains a clear sense that he is constantly dreaming from the moment he wakes up until he falls asleep can become aware of these things. I have already said in a public lecture that, with regard to our feelings and our will, we are constantly asleep and dreaming, even in waking life. When we allow the world to act upon us in this way, our impressions and images are constantly taking place; but beneath them we are dreaming about all things, and this dream life is much richer than we realize. It is merely overshadowed by conscious thought, just as a faint light is overshadowed by a strong one. — You can, as it were, gain insight into such conditions through experimentation by paying attention to various intimate aspects of life. Try, for example, conducting the following experiment within yourself: Imagine that you are lying on a daybed and waking up. Of course, a person doesn’t pay attention to themselves at that moment, because the world immediately bombards them with all sorts of impressions. But it can happen that they remain calm for a little while after waking up. In that moment, they may notice that they had actually already perceived something before waking up. They can observe this especially when someone knocked on the door and did not knock again. They can acknowledge this, but as they wake up, they know: Something has happened. It becomes clear from the overall situation.

[ 16 ] When a person observes something like this, they are not far from recognizing what spiritual science has established: that we relate to our surroundings through perception on a much broader scale than conscious perception alone. It is simply true that when you are walking down the street and encounter someone who has just come around the corner—and whom you therefore could not have seen—you will have the feeling that you have already seen them before; in countless cases, you may have the feeling that you have already seen something before it has actually happened. — It is true: We are already in a soul-spiritual connection with what we will later perceive. This is certainly the case, except that we are overwhelmed by the subsequent sensory perception and do not really pay attention to what is taking place in the innermost recesses of our soul life.

[ 17 ] This is yet another process that takes place subconsciously in a manner similar to the formation of memory or to what I have described as the feeling of gratitude toward all surrounding phenomena. The deceased can speak to us only through the element that flows through our dreams, which are woven throughout our lives. The dead speak into this intimate, subconsciously unfolding perception. And they can do so if we are able to share with them the same spiritual and soulful atmosphere. For this is necessary for them if they wish to speak to us: that we bring into our consciousness something of what I have just described as the feeling of gratitude—a feeling of gratitude toward everything that reveals itself to us. If there is no trace of this feeling of gratitude within us—if we are unable to thank the world for allowing us to live, for continually enriching our lives with new impressions; if we are unable to deepen our souls by frequently reminding ourselves that life itself is, in fact, a gift through and through—then the dead cannot find that shared spiritual space with us. For they can speak to us only through this sense of gratitude; otherwise, a wall stands between us and them.

[ 18 ] Now we will see how many obstacles there are when it comes specifically to communicating with the dead; for, as we have seen in other contexts, it always involves communicating with those dead with whom we are karmically connected. If we have lost them, if we wish them back into our lives, if we cannot bring ourselves to think: “We are grateful that we had them, quite regardless of the fact that we no longer have them”—then our feeling of gratitude is simply not present toward the being we wish to approach; then it does not find us, or at least it cannot speak to us. It is precisely the feelings we so often have toward deceased loved ones that prevent the dead from speaking to us. Other deceased individuals who are not karmically connected to us usually find it more difficult to speak to us; but when it comes to those close to us, we lack the sense that we are grateful to them for having meant something to us in life, and that we should not cling to the idea that we no longer have them; for this is an ungrateful feeling when viewed in the broader context of life. One need only realize just how much the feeling of loss outweighs the other, and then one will be able to grasp the full significance of what I am saying. — We imagine that we have lost a beloved relative. Then we must truly be able to rise to the feeling of gratitude that we had him. We must be able to think selflessly about what he meant to us until his death, and not about what we now feel because we no longer have him. For the better we are able to feel precisely what he meant to us during his life, the sooner he finds the opportunity to speak to us, the sooner it becomes possible for him to reach us with his words through the shared atmosphere of gratitude.

[ 19 ] However, in order to enter more and more consciously into the world from which such things emerge, many other things are necessary. Suppose you have lost a child. You can cultivate the necessary sense of connection, for example, by imagining yourself sitting with the child, playing with him or her, so that you are just as interested in the game as the child is. And if you can think of a child in such a way that you’re just as interested in the game as the child is, you’ll have the corresponding sense of togetherness—just as playing with a child only makes sense if you’re just as much of a playful rascal as the child is. This creates an atmosphere that’s necessary for that sense of togetherness. So if you imagine yourself playing with the child and really immerse yourself in that vividly, then the space is created where our gaze and the child’s gaze can meet. If I am then able to grasp what the deceased is saying, I am in a conscious connection with them. This, in turn, can be fostered in various ways.

[ 20 ] For some people, for example, thinking comes exceptionally easily. They’ll say: “That’s not true!” — But still, there are people for whom thinking comes exceptionally easily. When people find it difficult, that’s actually a different feeling. It is precisely those people who take thinking the most lightly who find it the very most difficult. This is because they are actually mentally lazy. But what I mean is this: most people actually find thinking easy. You can’t even say how easy it is, because the way people think is so incredibly easy; you can only say that they simply think—they have no concept whatsoever that it could also be difficult. They simply think; they grasp their ideas and then hold onto them, living within them. But then other things come to people, and I’ll take our example right away: spiritual science. Spiritual science is shunned by so many people not because it is difficult to understand, but because it requires a certain effort to take in its ideas. People shy away from this effort. And whoever goes further and further into spiritual science gradually realizes that grasping its ideas truly requires an exertion of the will—that such an exertion is necessary not only when lifting hundred-pound weights, but also when grasping ideas. But that is precisely what people do not want; they think lightly. It is precisely those who advance in their thinking who come to realize that their thinking becomes harder and harder, more and more laborious—if I may put it that way—because they increasingly feel that in order for a thought to take hold within them, they must exert effort. In fact, there is nothing more conducive to penetrating the spiritual world than when it becomes increasingly difficult to form thoughts, and indeed, the person who would make the greatest progress in spiritual science is the one who could no longer apply the standard of easy thinking to which one is otherwise accustomed in life, but who would say to himself: “This thinking is actually hard work; one must exert oneself, just as if one were striking with a flail!”

[ 21 ] I can only hint at such a feeling, but it can take shape. It is good; it is beneficial when it happens. There are many other things connected with it as well—for example, that what many people have gradually recedes. Many people’s minds work so quickly that as soon as someone mentions just a part of a complex of ideas, they have already grasped the whole context; they know it and are always ready to give an answer right away. But what else would conversation in the salons mean if thinking were difficult! But one can observe this: as a person gradually becomes familiar with the inner workings of things, it also becomes harder for them to simply chatter away and be ready with an answer to everything right away; for that stems from facile thinking. After all, as one’s knowledge advances, one becomes increasingly Socratic; one realizes more and more that one must invest a great deal of effort and can only earn the right to express an opinion on this or that with great difficulty.

[ 22 ] This feeling that an effort of will is necessary to grasp thoughts is related to another feeling we sometimes have when we are trying to memorize something, when we have to study but cannot get the information to sink in. One can certainly sense the connection between these two things: the difficulty of retaining something in memory, and the difficulty one experiences when exerting willpower in one’s own thinking to grasp something. But one can also practice this; one can apply what I might call conscientiousness—a sense of responsibility toward one’s thinking. For example, it happens with some people that when someone says something based on a certain life experience—such as, “So-and-so is a good person”—the other person immediately gossips, “A terribly good person!” Just think how often it happens in life that answers consist solely of responding with the comparative rather than the positive. Of course, there is not the slightest basis for the statement to correspond to the comparative; it is merely the most absolute lack of what one ought to be thinking; one has the feeling that one ought to have experienced something of what one is trying to express, of what one wants to talk about. Naturally, such a demand of life must not be taken too far, for otherwise a great silence would descend upon many salons.

[ 23 ] But the fact is this: This feeling, which arises from a sense of responsibility toward thinking—from the realization that thinking is difficult—is what establishes the possibility and the capacity to receive flashes of insight. For an insight does not come in the way that a thought usually springs to most people’s minds; an insight always comes by being as difficult as something we perceive as difficult. We must first learn to perceive the thought as difficult; we must first learn to perceive that memory-like retention is something other than mere thinking. Then, however, we will be able to sense that faint, dreamlike emergence of thoughts in the soul—thoughts that do not really want to linger, that actually want to be gone again as soon as they arrive, and that are difficult to grasp. We help ourselves in this process by developing a genuine sense of living with these thoughts in reality. — Try to understand what is going on in your soul when, for example, you have intended to go somewhere and then arrive at your destination. Of course, people don’t usually think about this, but one can also reflect on what is happening in the soul when one has had an intention, carried it out, and then achieved what was intended. A real shift has indeed taken place in the soul. One can sometimes even find it quite strikingly expressed when a mountaineer has to exert great effort to reach the top of a mountain—when he pants and pants and finally, upon reaching the summit, exclaims, “Thank God I’m here!”—then one senses that a certain shift in his feelings has taken place. But one can also cultivate a more subtle sensibility in this direction, and this more subtle sensibility can extend into the more intimate life of the soul. Then it is similar to the following feeling: Whoever begins to visualize a situation involving a deceased person, whoever begins to try to share common interests with the deceased, to connect with their thoughts and feelings, will feel as if they are on a path. And then comes the moment when one feels as if they have found peace in this thought. Whoever can do this—first move within a thought and then find balance with that thought—feels as if they have come to a standstill, whereas before they were walking. In doing so, one has done much to ensure, in an appropriate way, the insights that a thought can provide. One can also prepare for enlightenment through thoughts by engaging one’s whole being instead of relying solely on what one otherwise uses in life. This naturally leads to a deeper intimacy with this experience.

[ 24 ] Anyone who brings to mind even a little of that feeling of gratitude I spoke of earlier will immediately notice that this feeling of gratitude—which otherwise remains unconscious—does not have the same effect as ordinary gratitude when it rises into consciousness; but rather, it has the effect of making one want to connect the whole person with it—at least the person down to the arms and hands. Here I must draw attention to what I have said about this aspect of human sensation, where ordinary perceptions are grasped, but the more intimate perceptions pass through the brain as if through a sieve, and the arms and hands are actually the receiving organs for them. But one can also truly experience this. Of course, one can remain calm in the process, but one can still feel as if, in response to certain impressions of life, one must express that feeling of gratitude—and other similar feelings as well, such as a sense of wonder or a sense of respect—with one’s arms. Fragmentary expressions of this experience—the twitching in the arms and hands that arises from sharing in the subconscious impulses triggered by these impressions—come to the surface, for example, when a person feels compelled to clap their hands in response to the beauty of nature, or to fold their hands in response to certain events that have happened to them. All things that have happened to us subconsciously find fragmentary expression in life. In the face of what one might call “the hands and arms participating in external impressions,” a person can remain calm; then only their etheric body—the etheric hands and etheric arms—moves. The more one becomes aware of this—indeed, the more one is able to empathize with the arm organism regarding what external impressions are—the more one develops a sensation that finds expression in this way: When you see red, you want to make this hand movement, because it belongs to it; when you see blue, you want to make that hand movement, because it belongs to it—the more one becomes aware of this, the more one also develops a sense for insights, for what is meant to enter the soul in this way, what we are meant to receive as impressions. When we have given ourselves over in the way I described with the playing child, then we lose ourselves in the impression, yet find ourselves. But then comes the insight when we have made ourselves capable of having the whole human being ready for an impression, when, even as we immerse ourselves in our own thoughts with the dead, we can connect this immersion itself with a sense of oneness, and, as we awaken afterward, can connect it in real experience with the whole human being, as I have now described, when we can feel that sense of gratitude extending all the way to our hands and arms. For the spiritual essence in which the deceased resides between death and new birth speaks to the living person in such a communion in such a way that one can say: We find him when we can meet at a shared spiritual place in a thought that he, too, perceives, when we can meet in this shared thought with a complete sense of oneness. And we have the means to do this through the medium of the feeling of gratitude. For from the space woven from the sense of community, through the air formed from the feeling of universal gratitude toward the world, the dead speak to the living.