— The central question that troubles many: do people really have control over their lives, or are they merely puppets of fate?
There are several points of view:
- Some believe that fate cannot be changed, everything is predetermined from above.
- Believers explain this by God’s providence.
- Others are convinced that a person is the “architect of their own happiness,” and only the lazy and untalented believe in fate.
- Psychologists speak of personal responsibility: it is the person who controls their life and their choices.
So what is fate? And can it be changed?
Recently, in one of my V100 mentorship groups, someone asked: “Where do I even have freedom?”
When we discuss fate, we always imply: part of life is predetermined, and part is free. But which part exactly? One participant said: “I used to think I had 100% freedom. Now I think—maybe 10%. Or maybe none at all.”
And indeed, it’s hard to sort this out. A person wants to build a clear plan: when the wedding will be, how many children and what gender, what job or business, which partners, and even—when loved ones will die. At first glance, everything seems under control. But once we get to the topic of death—it becomes clear: here, control is impossible. Nevertheless, many today strive to control even this—biohacking, life extension technologies, attempts to “program” health. Essentially, this is the deep desire of humans—to control death itself.
It is important to distinguish: freedom and control are different things.
- Freedom is when there is a choice between options. For example: I am offered two jobs, and I choose one.
- Control is the desire to predetermine everything in advance: “In a year I will be earning 20 million.”
Many call the second one freedom, although it is rather an attempt at total control.
Where did the very concept of fate come from?
The idea of fate arose the moment people noticed: whatever they planned, much of it didn’t come true. To explain this, they invented the word “fate.” Moreover, it appeared in different contexts: material—superstitions, rituals, “knock on wood,” black cats, candles in church “because everyone does it”; spiritual—faith in higher powers, providence, destiny.
If a person looks at fate purely materially, then in essence, it is their own “programmed” life, based on habits, fears, and automatic actions.
What can a person really control? To sort it out, we need to divide life into zones:
- What happens consciously, where there is freedom of choice.
- What happens unconsciously, “on autopilot.”
- What happens entirely without our knowledge.
The main question arises: which events should be considered fate? The birth of children? Meeting one’s husband or wife? Choosing a home? Moving to another country? Starting a business?
Here is a very important point to pay attention to. This is the key to truly understanding the topic of fate and freedom of choice. We must honestly look at how exactly we evaluate what happens in our lives.
Most people want fate to bring only bright, elevated events—big, significant, beautiful. As if small things cannot be “fate.” A flower on the windowsill, a pot bought in a store, a chance meeting in an elevator—all this seems too small and unimportant. People want to downplay their significance and say: “Major events are predestined by fate, and small ones—I do myself.” But then the ego turns on, the inner system that declares: “No, wait, I also create the big events myself!”
This is a very important point for analysis. After all, the main goal here is not to philosophize about terms, but for a person to be able to get a base—a point of support, from which they will make further decisions. To understand: is this truly fate, or is it the result of my choice?
Let’s take a difficult example. A child becomes ill and dies—is this fate or the choice of the parents? A family drives in a car, an accident occurs. You are at the wheel, you make a choice—to turn one way or another. And suddenly, that very turn turns out to be fatal, and in the accident, the children die. What is that? Fate? Your choice?
— “Well, it was predestined,” people often say.
— “So you didn’t choose?”
— “No, I chose, but we don’t know our fate. Only later, analyzing, do we say: ‘That was destined.’”
— “So was it choice or fate?”
— “Fate doesn’t decide for me. I just move along the line already meant for me.”
— “But in the moment, you had a choice. If you had turned differently, maybe the children would have survived?”
— “But I didn’t know. I made the decision without knowing its consequences.”
Here lies the key. It is important for a person to distinguish: did they know or did they not know. If I know and consciously choose, it is my responsibility. If I didn’t know, I tell myself: “This is fate, I am not guilty.” This is a built-in mechanism of modern man. It allows one to feel safe: all bad things—from fate, all good things—the result of my decisions.
But here lies the contradiction. A person doesn’t want to live “only by fate,” because that sounds like irresponsibility. But taking full responsibility for everything that happens is also hard.
That’s why it’s so important to develop the ability to see true causes and effects. To be able to analyze any event: big or small, short or stretched over time. I did something in business, a certain trait of mine manifested, a child acquired a new skill—is that fate or the result of my actions? And here it’s worth noting: our task is not to give a final answer to the question of whether fate exists or not. It both exists and does not exist. Much more important is to be able to analyze events and honestly answer: “Do I understand why this happened? Do I see causes and consequences? What should I do next time? How should I act?”
Such analysis is needed not only for the young but also for those who have already lived part of their life. After all, one can look back and ask: “Why did I end up here? Why did I make these particular decisions? What really brought me to this point?” And it’s worth observing not only big events—meeting a spouse, moving to another country, having children. It is much more useful to see fate in small things. This very conversation happening now—is it fateful or not?
The word “fateful” in Russian immediately gives significance: “Wow, an extremely important event!” But if we look more precisely, fateful means what is predetermined by fate. Then why can’t breakfast be fateful? Just because it seems small? If this article is read by 10 million people in 50 years—we’ll call it fate. But if only a thousand read it? Or five hundred? It seems like “not fate.” But for one person who changes their life after reading, the event becomes truly fateful.
We recently discussed this within V100. There I gave the example: once the richest man in the world rejoiced at his 50 billion. Twenty years passed, and now there are those with 300, 250, 240 billion. Against this background, his fortune no longer seems the “biggest.” There is always something greater. And if we measure fate by quantity or scale, we inevitably lose the essence.
Therefore, the first step in understanding fate is to learn to relate to events calmly, without embellishments. There are planned and unplanned ones. But a planned event does not have to be a miracle or a catastrophe. It can be absolutely neutral.
When we stop attributing significance only to “great” moments, we gain the ability to truly analyze causes and effects. Then we can ask the right question: is this the result of someone’s plan—biological, social, spiritual, religious, esoteric? Or is it my freedom of choice, a random and not predetermined event?
And the question “Who among us is lucky?”—is itself material and superficial. You may miss a plane but by chance end up on the waiting list and still fly. On the one hand, you can say: “I got lucky.” On the other—ask the question differently: “Was it predestined by fate for me to attend the meeting? Or predestined precisely to fly on this plane? Or was it done by some forces that have nothing to do with my fate or my freedom of choice?”
Here another important aspect appears. When we reason about fate, we tend to tie everything to ourselves, to our personality. We think: either I did everything myself, and it is my responsibility, or everything is by fate, but by my fate. We almost never allow that there may exist forces or circumstances that are in no way connected to our personal fate, but still affect the course of events.
Imagine: today you said that your children were born by your fate. But what if they were born not by yours, but by your husband’s fate? Maybe it was his fate, not yours. Your children became your choice, but the fate of their appearance belonged to him. Do you like such a thought? Usually not. Or, for example, business. You ended up in a project because another person had a fate—and he needed a partner. It was destined for him to go through this path, and your freedom of choice became embedded in his fate. In essence, his line pulled you in. And here’s the question: does that suit you?
This is an important point. We begin to think: what if this is really how it happens? What if fate is formed not only by me alone?
What happens when fates intersect?
If the fates of two people touch, a new shared fate is born. But then the question arises: how are the shares distributed in it? Whose fate has more influence? This is not abstract reasoning but a tool for honest analysis.
Yes, many people immediately say: “Enough of digging into such details! Do we really need to consider fate even in buying a chair or a banana? Or in the fact that I went to the pool?” The answer—both yes and no. You can’t turn life into continuous paranoia, but the ability to easily and calmly look into the root of events gives a huge advantage.
From what position does a person reason about fate?
- If he believes that he appeared by chance, the brain formed, personality, and everything is limited to the boundaries of material life—then in material logic, fate simply does not exist. But for me this position is abstract and artificial.
- If, however, we allow that life is not limited to one material world, that there is a spiritual reality—then within this spiritual life fate is formed. Material life is just a point within the spiritual, and not the other way around.
And then a picture opens: everyone has a karmic flow. This is not “karma as punishment or reward,” but the flow of life into which we enter. A person is born into the chosen family—and the flow begins to run. The family makes its corrections: heredity, family programs. Some traditions see fate exclusively in kin, in genes, in bones. Others expand this concept, speaking of the spiritual source of the kin.
And here arises the key question: what is primary? Karma or heredity? Could it be that heredity hardly affects, and then the karmic flow is free and powerful? Or, on the contrary—family programs are so strong that they almost completely block the karmic line? Then the person lives in the channel of the kin, and his own karma breaks through only as a weak stream.
It is important to understand: if you assert that everything is predetermined, then there is neither freedom nor the concepts of “good” and “evil.” If everything is programmed, then there is no responsibility. But if we acknowledge the existence of the karmic flow, then we automatically accept: freedom of action always exists.
So the karmic flow can expand or narrow. Heredity can also intensify. But in any case, after death and before the next birth, all this is transformed into a single karmic flow. Heredity becomes part of the larger line of life.
The foundation that is important to grasp:
Life is simultaneously absolutely free and at the same time programmed. It is multilayered. And we, humans, are radically different. Outwardly, we are easy to compare: man, woman, eyes, nose, body. But as spiritual beings we differ much more strongly. And this often goes unnoticed.
Here arises the question of experience. People like to ask: “On what basis are you speaking about this? What is your experience?” But experience in such topics is not measured by diplomas, the number of books read, or caves visited. I once even joked: “Name the method by which you want to measure my experience. How many lectures have I given? How many students have gone through me? How many years have I practiced? Or how many diplomas do I have?” But all of that is artificial criteria. True experience is measured by something else—by the depth of living as a spiritual being.
Here’s an example: my wife has four children. She gave birth to them without a diploma in motherhood, without Moscow State University or Harvard, without coaching and books. She simply gave birth. And there are women who studied dozens of courses, read hundreds of books, and still have not come close to giving birth to a child. This doesn’t mean they are weaker. It means that children come for another reason—not because you “studied everything correctly.”
The same with business. Jeff Bezos had no “experience” creating a trillion-dollar company. Trump had no “experience” being president of the United States. Who had experience governing a country at that specific historical moment? Who had experience launching a company the size of Amazon, if such companies did not exist before him? No one ever has prior experience in a unique role, on a unique scale. And yet it happens. That means it’s not only about experience.
And in the same way, everything will end. Any business will eventually die. Any marriage can fall apart, even if it was called “the model of happiness.” And when that happens, the question arises: did we deceive ourselves all those years? Did we not see what really was? Did we live in something unreal?
Therefore, when we consider fate, we see: a person has a karmic life, there is the flow of heredity working inside them, and there is freedom. This means that part of events are predetermined, part are corrected, and part depend on choice.
It is very important to notice: heredity itself is already a correction of karmic life. But if this is so, then other people we meet also bring us corrections.
For example, the birth of a child in a family is perhaps the strongest correction of fate. In the Vedic tradition, there is the concept of upaya—a way to change the course of fate. The meaning of upaya is to narrow or expand the flow, redirect its course, create new constructions in fate. But there are also broader corrections: a country, a people, an era. The fate of a nation or the fate of a country—do they not affect a person’s personal fate? Of course, they do.
And now an important point. A person says: “I live to achieve the ultimate goal.” But the ultimate goal does not exist. If you have “achieved” it—development has stopped, you are dead. If you have died—the goal is also not achieved. There is always something you will not achieve. And that is normal. This is worth hearing: in life there is always death, and there is always something unachieved.
— Why do we repeat the fate of our parents?
— Some repeat the fate of their parents, and some do not. And even those who repeat, do so partially. There is no complete repetition. People tend to exalt: “He became a great man, and his son also became great.” Another example: “That one died young, and this one also died young.” But these are just separate coincidences.
You could say: “We repeated each other’s fate, we both moved to California.” Is that repetition? On the one hand, yes, but on the other—our lives are completely different. Or the same number of children in a family. Or the same names. Or a shared zodiac sign. But these are only individual strokes, not a full coincidence.
Why does this happen? The answer is simple: as spiritual beings, we ourselves choose which family to enter. We ourselves choose to be like our parents. And our children resemble us not because we specifically gave or instilled something in them, but because they chose this similarity. This is especially visible in the example of brothers and sisters: they grow up in the same family, with the same parents, but can be completely different in character and appearance. This is the choice of their spiritual being.
Therefore, repetitions of fate are very relative. Of course, the environment influences: if you spend every evening among people who drink beer, most likely you will start drinking beer. If you surround yourself with people who do pull-ups on a bar—you’ll start doing pull-ups. If you are constantly among musicians—you’ll start playing an instrument. This is a natural process, part of life.
— What to do if a person feels they are living not their own life?
The first thing to understand: this thought almost always arises from the ego. Why exactly did you ask yourself this question? Where did it come from?
Usually people who have a family, healthy children, strong health, financial stability, and an inner state of joy don’t say this. There are no doubts there: the life is their own. But it can be otherwise: a person may feel good—and yet still say: “I am not living my own life.” This is paradoxical, but possible. So the point is not only in fate, but in why this question arises at all.
Essentially, it is always connected with the absence of inner harmony. A person ties it to fate, although it is more correct to ask oneself: “Why do I not feel harmony? Why does this feeling arise?” And here it is very important to see: even people who outwardly look happy often feel inside that they are living “not the right” life. And almost every person experiences this feeling at least once in their life.
The main reason is simple: a person is not living in awareness.
Rudolf Steiner, for example, explained the teenage crisis like this: parents did not tell the child by age 14 who he is as a spiritual being, where he came from, what tasks he faces, how the world works, what bodies there are—physical, etheric, astral; what the soul and spirit are. And when the child doesn’t know this, he rebels, resists. His spiritual being is unprepared, it feels: “Something is wrong.”
It is the same with an adult: if he lives without awareness of what is happening, automatically, like a robot, he will feel that he is not living his own life.
And this is the goal of my articles: to help a person learn to see causes and effects, to understand constructions, to know why they feel what they feel. So that they can take their next step consciously: with their mind, intuition, body sense, advice from another person, or even through chance. The main thing is—they know how to make a decision.
Even if that decision is “roll the dice,” and fate is determined that way. But then the question arises: what fell on the dice—is that fate or not?