13. To Rudolf Ronsperger

My dear friend!

Your “Outlook and Return” surprises me greatly. Are you serious? I can no longer believe it. I pace up and down the room, trying to master my horror. This is the poetry of the most rampant materialism. Once again, all my resentment turns against the latter. The poem disturbs me so much, I find the dream of such gloomy pessimism in youthful splendor so repugnant that I am unable to speak further about the poem. Only now does it occur to me that I perhaps should not have expressed such a judgment, but I can assume that you prefer to be taken at your word. The second little poem disturbs me somewhat; I feel too much of the young Schiller in it. May God grant that I may one day admire something similar in your later work and take pleasure in it. You misunderstood me regarding the autumn dream. I am not criticizing the manner in which you express dissatisfaction; I am simply saying that it is not appropriate to express dissatisfaction in such a situation. You ask, “Should he not express dissatisfaction?” And to that I say, no. Just think what we would say if Jules Verne described all the facilities and precautions in detail and then, when it came time to leave for the moon, said: it's not possible. For my part, I would be furious with Jules Verne. And then, why should the highest happiness defy all description? One need only cite the bare facts, and the corresponding strings will be struck in the sympathetic heart of one's fellow human beings. Can the poet not also depict the deepest pain in this way? Think of Werther.

And now to something else. The actual concept and essence of man is made up of the longing for the absolute, the eternal, the immortal. To attempt to prove this is nonsense. It rather betrays the deepest stupidity /uncertain reading] that anyone ever demanded proof of it. The highest reality belongs to the absolute alone. Everything that does not merge with the absolute is illusion, deception, error, “the opinion of mortals,” as Parmenides said. The striving for the absolute, this longing of man, is freedom. Every other goal produces error, deception, illusion, and owes its origin not to freedom but to arbitrariness. Such arbitrary goals are: nature, the ego, matter, etc. The illusion must be destroyed, the veil lifted, and the truth, the deity, stands before us; the world stands before us in a new light. How foolish we were not to recognize this. With arbitrariness, we also strip away all the traits of a shallow worldview that still cling to us; we recognize that we have misunderstood ourselves. Only now do we understand ourselves; we understand religion, art, and philosophy in their context. We cast off the common, popular views of eternity and infinity, and a whole new edifice stands before us. We gain a sense of an infinity of which we had no idea, indeed could not have had any idea.

These are not metaphors, but the utmost seriousness. The fatal flaw in writing down the highest truths is that one must use ordinary language, in which words are mostly signs for sensory objects, but people always think only of the next thing and have no idea what one means. Some even resort to the trivialities of logic, without knowing that with this insipid and bland formalism one can prove anything. And now let us continue. If we call this recognition of the highest truths the coming together of man with the Absolute, we find that in this coming together his highest freedom blossoms. He finds himself at a point in the universe and now he has his standpoint—now comes what we discussed in winter—from there he surveys the world. He judges it, judges himself, and is satisfied with himself, the world, and everything. In the highest freedom, the highest happiness, the fullest satisfaction, manifests itself. Man has recognized his destiny; he is reconciled with everything. Do not consider this to be enthusiasm or error, but rather a faint reflection of real truths. Regarding the strangeness, I would like to point out that it is precisely in the 19th century that one cannot find the truth among the masses. You know what people usually think, and it is wisely necessary that only those who do not think about bread and “apples” but about the truth can find it. This is not fatalism, but a justice that is as beautiful as it is understandable.

I must apologize for not being able to include another report on the village schoolteacher today. I will fulfill this pleasant duty very soon. I hope to come to Münkendorf, Trumau, etc. as soon as possible, where I will learn many things. For now, here are just a few of his little poems:

On a fragrant meadow
There stood a shepherd boy
He rejoiced in the flowers,
God's beautiful gift.

At the other end stood an ox,
Who ate the flowers;
He too rejoiced
In this gift from God.

Three kinds of fruit fall from the tree:
Some gnawed by worms,
Others torn off by the storm,
The third finally fall ripe from the tree.

The fruits faithfully show the fate of mankind:
One falls gnawed by the worm of the heart,
The other broken by the storm of misfortune,
The third ripe from the branches of the tree of life!

Many cried out for freedom!
People wanted to save them.
But when they had freedom,
Others put them in chains.

I will write again tomorrow evening, then the continuation of this.

Regarding your matter, I believe the following: It is incomprehensible to me how you could have told your father such a thing in the first place; there are many difficulties involved, I will consider the matter carefully tomorrow and, if it is best to follow your initial wish, I will do so and report back to you immediately tomorrow evening.

Are you convinced that I have the best intentions in this matter and will act accordingly?

For the time being, you can be assured of the unchanging devotion of your

Rudolf Steiner.

Tradition: Photocopy of the lost original (7 pages, 2 double sheets), RSA; original formerly with Walter Beck, Munich (1967); printed in GA 38 (1985), pp. 29-32; reply to letter dated: before Aug. 16, 1881 (not available); answered on: before Aug. 17, 1881 (not available) People: Friedrich Schiller; Jules Verne; Johann Wolfgang von Goethe; Parmenides; Johann Wurth; Felix Ronsperger Literature: Jules Verne: From the Earth to the Moon. Directe Auffahrt in 97 Stunden, Budapest 1873; Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: The Sorrows of Young Werther, Leipzig 1774; Parmenides: On Nature, Johann Wurth: (Sinngedichte) Places: Oberlaa; Münchendorf; Trumau