The Rudolf Steiner Archive

5. Can a Supernatural Mode of Knowledge Be Scientifically Justified?

[ 1 ] When it comes to matters of intellectual life, people very often believe they can turn to philosophers for answers. Now, an official representative of contemporary philosophy, Richard Wahle, has made a remarkable statement—drawn from the consciousness of our present age—precisely about philosophy, not only about contemporary philosophy but also about the philosophy of earlier times. He said that the philosophers of earlier times were like restaurant owners in which all sorts of cooks and waiters prepared and served unhealthy food. In contrast, contemporary philosophy is like a restaurant in which the cooks and waiters stand around idly and no longer prepare anything of any use at all. — By these “chefs and waiters,” Richard Wahle means the philosophers.

[ 2 ] Now, that is certainly a strange statement. Nevertheless, one could say that, in a certain sense, it stems from the consciousness of our present-day era. One need not hold the naïve view that the general public always bases its worldview on—or allows itself to be instructed by—solitary prophets and contemplative philosophers. Yet the significance of what philosophers say lies in a different realm. One must regard their statements as symptoms. What they say is, in a certain sense—albeit in a particular way—expressed from the general consciousness of a given era. And what underlies their statements as impulses lies in the subconscious of people’s souls in any given age. From this, they form their worldview.

[ 3 ] In our current inquiry into spiritual life, it must be possible to assess things from perspectives other than certain scientific viewpoints. We must not delude ourselves about this. The fact is that everything that is newly discovered—or that is believed to be discoverable—in the great questions of worldview is already judged by public opinion today according to the views of natural science, or at least intuitively judged in that light. And even that which springs from the deepest foundations of humanity’s moral and religious life has, in a sense, had to justify itself before the scientific consciousness of today. Therefore, a worldview based on supersensible knowledge must, above all else today, be mindful of engaging with the scientific demands of contemporary natural science. But it is precisely in this context that confusion and misunderstandings regarding what is meant here by an anthroposophically oriented spiritual science are all too likely—one might even say inevitable. And so I would like to begin this series of lectures today by attempting to present to you—at least in general terms—scientific justifications for what this anthroposophy strives to achieve as supersensible knowledge. I must, however, ask for your indulgence, especially for today’s lecture—which may be less accessible than the following three—since some of the topics I will be discussing may sound more abstract, even though they are quite concrete experiences for those who are deeply immersed in the spiritual science referred to here. However, it will not be possible to describe in every detail the path that anthroposophical spiritual science takes into the supersensible world; rather, I will only be able to indicate the manner in which the scientific evidence for it—which exists even prior to natural science—must be sought in the present. The following lectures will be dedicated to presenting the individual pieces of evidence, particularly with regard to the demonstrative nature of spiritual science.

[ 4 ] Above all, a misunderstanding has arisen because this Anthroposophy is very easily perceived—on the one hand—by natural scientists, thinkers, and those who believe they are forming a worldview based on natural science in a popular way—as being opposed to natural science. I will attempt to show that the spiritual science referred to here is not only not opposed to natural science, but that, on the contrary, it pursues precisely what natural science strives for right down to its ultimate consequences, and that it carries the spiritual meaning of the scientific method of proof further than natural science itself.

[ 5 ] Another objection that can arise very easily—and I would like to say once again, quite naturally—is the one people make when they confuse something that appears as a form of supersensible insight with all sorts of time-honored traditions. It is the objection that naturally arises for those who inform themselves about this spiritual science only superficially and from the outside—in a sense, from quite far outside. It is the objection that such spiritual science deals only with all sorts of mystical—that is, as one imagines, obscure and unclear—concepts and ideas that do not originate from that region of the soul upon which mature scientific thinking is founded. Nor do I need to address this objection directly. It will fall away once I show where the starting point for the spiritual research referred to here lies—a starting point drawn from a full spiritual life.

[ 6 ] Anthroposophically oriented spiritual science must take as its starting point two experiences that must be deeply rooted in the inner life. The first is an experience that can be gained precisely through the knowledge of nature, through the correctly understood observation of nature. Anyone who intimately engages with the experiences that the observation of nature evokes in a person—and with the simple demands it places on us—will realize that talking about certain limits inherent in all knowledge of nature makes sense in a certain way, but on the other hand can lead entirely into misunderstandings. If one approaches scientific thinking not theoretically, not out of a belief in certain scientific dogmas, but with a healthy state of mind; if one actively engages with scientific thinking through the observation of nature, through the direct perception of natural phenomena and natural objects, then it becomes clear that this natural science as such—indeed, all knowledge of nature—must inevitably reach certain limits. And the question arises as to whether these limits of scientific knowledge are, in fact, limits of human knowledge in general. Anyone who does not understand this point correctly will be able to raise all manner of objections specifically against spiritual research.

[ 7 ] Since I wish to set myself the task today of showing that this spiritual research—even though it aims to serve as the foundation of a popular worldview for people of all educational backgrounds— it nevertheless had to grapple, before it became established, with all the philosophical and scientific questions concerning the limits of human knowledge in a serious scholarly manner—since I wish to set myself this task, I must, as I have said, address precisely such questions concerning the limits of scientific knowledge in a seemingly abstract form through direct experience with the natural sciences.

[ 8 ] When one observes nature, one arrives at certain assumptions that give rise to ideas about which one must say: Here lie the cornerstones of scientific research; here one cannot go any further; here one cannot fully immerse one’s thinking in the phenomena; here something remains undefined; here, in short, lie the limits of knowledge. Now, I could cite many such scientific concepts that represent the limits of knowledge; but one need only consider the most popular—I would say, the most trivial—scientific ideas, and one will find that they are, as it were, too dense for human understanding to penetrate directly into what is before us. One need only turn, for example, to two concepts: the concept of force and the concept of matter. One will search in vain for mathematical clarity regarding the nature of force and, in particular, of matter, if one insists on remaining strictly within the realm of natural observation. And one gets—albeit in a somewhat different way, indeed in a radically different way than through Kantianism, when one experiences how one, as it were, stumbles upon such obstacles as force and matter while conducting scientific research and observation—one gets the impression that this stumbling lies within human beings themselves. One is driven not to search outward in the world, but, in the face of these questions, to ask above all: How is the human being constituted? How is it inherent in human beings themselves that they must come up against such obstacles in their observation of nature? And one then investigates—as I said, I am characterizing the path of the power of proof—what it is, in fact, within the human soul that causes us to reach such limits; and one finds that there are indeed certain powers of the soul that prevent us, for example, from delving deeply into force and matter with our thinking cognition. The moment we truly wish to delve into them, our own mental disposition prevents us from applying our thinking fully. We cannot fully apply the thinking that is driven by the laws of nature. We must transition to perceiving such things as force and matter through other soul forces, uniting ourselves with them. We must allow it to flow into sensations, into intuitions, into that which is closely related to feeling—which can no longer be reached by thinking in the immediate light of thought. And we then feel, in immediate experience, that this transition from thinking to obscure feeling defines our limits in scientific imagination. And then one asks oneself: What do we, as human beings who wish to live healthily in our outer existence between birth and death, gain from those soul forces that so hinder us from reaching beyond the limits of natural science?

[ 9 ] As we examine the nature of these soul forces that hinder us so much, we then get the impression that they are very important and significant soul forces. We can ask ourselves through inner soul observation—to which we must become accustomed if we wish to become spiritual researchers—and we can recognize through direct soul observation how the very same forces that prevent us from penetrating into force and matter are the forces that enable us, as human beings, to love other beings in the world.

[ 10 ] Let us examine the nature of love. Let us try to delve into the state of our souls to discover the forces that enable us to love: We find that these are the very same forces that prevent us from becoming lost in cold rationality, in mere thinking about such cornerstones of scientific knowledge as force and matter, or many similar concepts. As human beings, we would have to be organized quite differently than we are; we would be unsuited to developing love for other human beings and unfolding love for other beings on our life’s journey if we could not reach the limits of scientific knowledge. It is precisely because of our capacity for love that we must reach the limits of scientific knowledge. This becomes clear to the researcher through direct experience with the natural sciences.

[ 11 ] But then a different theory of knowledge emerges—one that is far more vibrant than the abstract Kantian theory. Once one has grasped this, one views the world and human understanding of nature in a completely different way than before. Then one asks oneself: What would become of human beings if they had no limits set by the natural sciences? They would be cold, loveless people! This is the first insight that the researcher of the spirit must have.

[ 12 ] The second experience is the one he must have with mysticism. Just as he turns, on the one hand, to the natural sciences in order to pursue scientific inquiry and the observation of nature in the proper sense—and thereby recognizes why such observation has its limits—so, on the other hand, he turns to mysticism, not to dismiss it out of prejudice, but to have an experience of it, so that he may ask himself with genuine vitality: Is it perhaps possible through mysticism to attain what cannot be attained through scientific means: an access to that sphere that lies beyond the limits of sensory observation? Can one, by immersing oneself in one’s own self—which is, after all, the path of mysticism—come closer to the mysteries of supersensory existence?

[ 13 ] And here, too, the spiritual researcher discovers that a significant limit to human knowledge arises. Certainly, the mystical path, which is said to lead a person down into the depths of the soul, offers inner bliss; it also offers something like the prospect of uniting with the spiritual world forces of existence. Yet the spiritual researcher must pursue mystical experiences without prejudice, and it is precisely then that he finds his path cannot be that of ordinary mysticism; for this mysticism, above all, cannot shed light on the very nature of the human being. Why not? When one delves mystically into one’s own inner being, one encounters certain—I would say—resisting forces. One cannot go any deeper. And the person who engages in soul observation as seriously as spiritual research, as understood here, requires, becomes more critical than the ordinary mystic. The ordinary mystic very often believes that when he delves into the depths of his soul, he will find something there that shines into those depths from a higher world—simply through the means of ordinary mystical clairvoyance. The spiritual researcher who has mastered critical thinking knows how what is already present in the soul—memories and reminiscences of experiences—is actually transformed within ordinary conscious life, and how what is present in this way works and weaves its way through it. One tends to believe that what essentially emerges from hidden, subconscious memories—what bubbles up from reminiscences of experiences—is something foreign that leads us into a higher world through the path of mysticism. It is precisely through spiritual research that one learns to discern clearly that, when one delves down there, one finds nothing other than one’s own life and its interplay. This life and interplay, however, must undergo many transformations. As a result, one no longer recognizes what one experienced years ago. It appears in a different form. One takes it for an original experience. The sources of deception in this area are immense.

[ 14 ] For the true spiritual seeker, an examination of this path reveals that it acknowledges limits within the mystical path just as it does within the scientific path. And once again, he asks himself: What prevents us from descending into the depths of our own souls, so that we cannot come to know ourselves through a mystical path? — And one finds that, if we could recognize ourselves through the mystical path—were it not for the fact that ordinary mysticism is almost always an illusion—and if we were to find the eternal essence of ourselves through this ordinary mysticism, then we, as human beings, could not be beings capable of memory. The very thing within us that makes us beings capable of memory—the very thing within us that, through a certain resilience, holds onto what we have experienced—is what prevents us from penetrating those depths with mystical power. Because we need the capacity for memory if we are to lead a healthy life here on earth between birth and death, mysticism, as a form of self-knowledge, cannot be a true path of inquiry.

[ 15 ] Thus, within mysticism, the researcher of the spirit must find the boundaries that exist in the very place from which the human capacity for memory springs. And just as it is true that without the capacity for memory and without the capacity for love we would not be human, so it is true that, because of this structure of our being, we cannot, through the ordinary path of consciousness, find the supersensible beyond the limits of natural science, nor can we find it through mystical immersion in our own being.

[ 16 ] Therefore, the anthroposophically oriented spiritual research referred to here now seeks the path that emerges once one has experienced everything that can be gained for the soul’s constitution from these two experiences. These experiences themselves are inspiring; when they penetrate the soul, they urge the soul to observe. First of all, what emerges regarding the direction of our understanding of nature compels us to ask: What is the true nature of our relationship with nature? What, in fact, is the essence of this knowledge of nature? Those who, without prejudice, seek to understand the essence of this knowledge of nature will discover that it arises when we perceive, through thinking, what our senses vividly convey to us about the existence of nature. When we seek to understand the existence of nature, we do not simply take it as it is, but we penetrate it with thought. We have an immediately justified sense, as we synthesize our knowledge of nature in this thinking way, that the laws of natural phenomena become clear to us. We then have an immediately justified awareness that we abide in a form of being of some kind. We feel, as it were, through our perception, that we, too, are beings that exist.

[ 17 ] Certainly, many philosophical objections can be raised against this proposition; however, it is not intended to be asserted beyond the limits that result when one seeks to express nothing other than what a person experiences when perceiving nature through thought.

[ 18 ] Things are different when we step away from perception. We do this as human beings, too. We don’t merely perceive; sometimes we also step back from perception. We then reflect—as we say—we think further. Now, we live today in an age where this further thinking—this thinking without perceiving, this thinking that follows perception—cannot really be built upon the foundation of the kind of thinking one can discipline oneself to practice through rigorous natural science. And I am speaking here in particular of a kind of reflection that has not arisen haphazardly, but rather arises precisely in those who have become accustomed to rigorous scientific observation of nature and the processing of these observations. It is this kind of thinking—which one can cultivate within oneself through scientific observation—that I am referring to when one then carries it forward into reflection. I am speaking of that kind of thinking that takes place when one withdraws from observation—but withdraws with full consciousness, while also looking back at what the observation of nature provides; this is the kind of thinking I am referring to. When one immerses oneself deeply in the essence of spiritual research with this kind of thinking—for everything in it is based on observation—an experience emerges about which one can say nothing less than that for centuries people have held a false conception of this experience. Precisely among the most distinguished individuals, and even in the most astute philosophical thinking, an erroneous and fateful view has arisen regarding the experience that modern spiritual research has had to establish, through the kind of reflection just described.

[ 19 ] If one wishes to elaborate on what I mean here, one must point to a philosopher of the highest distinction, to Cartesius, Descartes, the founder of modern philosophy, whose views, in turn, rest on the same foundations as those of Augustine. For both thinkers, thought itself became the great enigma of existence. The sensory world was, in a sense, permeated by uncertainties for them, but they believed that if they directly perceived themselves as spiritual beings—as human beings—through thought, then whatever arose in that thought could not present them with any uncertainty. When one perceives oneself as thinking—even if one doubts everything, even if thinking consists solely of doubt and one must say, “I doubt while thinking”—one is, in that very doubt, so the thinkers maintained. And they formulated the proposition that, I would say, shines like a lighthouse through the ages: “I think, therefore I am.”

[ 20 ] There is no statement more false than this one when it comes to the direct experience of genuine thinking—thinking disciplined by the natural sciences. For anyone who pursues precisely the most rigorous form of thinking, one shaped by the natural sciences, must arrive at a different statement, namely: I think—and what is meant here is precisely that mode of thinking withdrawn from the external world: I think, therefore I am not. — Every genuine engagement with the spiritual world begins with the insight into the truth that we gain insight into our non-existence as spiritual beings, into the nature of our self insofar as we do not exist, at the very moment when we pass into a state of completely withdrawn thinking.

[ 21 ] This is the difficulty faced by the spiritual science referred to here when it seeks to find its way into people’s minds: it does, in fact, place rather unusual demands on them. If it were to demand that people be allowed to continue along their familiar paths, that one could awaken simply by continuing down the path once begun, that the mysteries of supersensible knowledge would be solved—if it were to hold out such prospects—it would have an easy time of it in the face of the habitual ways of thinking of many of our contemporaries. But this spiritual science must demand a completely scientific change of perspective, arising from the direct experiences of an unbiased consciousness.

[ 22 ] Now the question is: How does one establish the proposition “I think, therefore I am not”? — Spiritual science applies, for this very purpose, an energetic pursuit of this thought, which leads one to the error: “I think, therefore I am” — cogito ergo sum. — This is as if one were to attain thinking and then remain stuck at the level of thinking. Spiritual research cannot merely remain at the level of thinking. Spiritual science must strengthen and invigorate thinking; it must apply to thinking a spiritual activity that can be described by the word “meditation.”

[ 23 ] What does this meditation consist of? It consists not so much in deepening one’s thinking as in strengthening it. Certain thoughts that one sets one’s mind on, that one repeatedly brings back into consciousness until they have given one’s thinking such inner density that thinking is no longer merely thinking, but becomes an experience—like any other experience, only one that is stronger than mere abstract thinking: that is meditation. Meditation is very difficult for some people. Depending on one’s individual disposition, one may have to make an effort at it for months, years, or even longer; yet the experience referred to here can be brought about in every person. It is this experience that should form the foundation of spiritual research—not something derived solely from the experiences of a select few individuals, but rather that which every human being can attain. When solitary thinking—that is, detached thinking—is cultivated, it becomes an experience as vivid as, for example, the experiences of metabolism.

[ 24 ] Yet another surprising result—but one that can present itself just as clearly in sensory experience as the plant cells a botanist examines under a microscope appear clearly to him! But it is a strange experience one then has with thinking. This inner experience, this inner state of mind that one gains when one intensifies one’s thinking, can only be compared to the feeling of hunger. As strange and surprising as it sounds, it can be compared to the feeling of hunger—though not the kind of hunger associated with the need for food, but rather one that is limited above all to the human head. But this actually teaches us for the first time how our human physical organization relates to thinking. Anyone who does not have this experience may form all sorts of strange notions about the relationship between human thinking and the human body. Anyone who has this experience will never say: “This human body produces thought”—for—as the immediate fact shows—there are no such impulses within this human body, in relation to its formative powers, that produce thought; rather, when we think, the body is just as much broken down—I would say destroyed—as it is when we become hungry. It was therefore strange when more or less materialistic or mechanistic thinking claimed that the body produces thought. It produces it no more than the forces that are its formative powers, the forces that constitute it. Thus, it must break down, just as it does when we are hungry, if thought is to take hold within it.

[ 25 ] Only when one has this surprising experience does one truly know what thinking is. Then one knows that thinking is not the unfolding of a mental reality comparable to external sensory reality, but rather that by immersing oneself in one’s own organization through thought, one immerses oneself in one’s own unreality—that one ceases to be by immersing oneself in thought.

[ 26 ] Then the great, anxious question arises: How do we proceed from here? Spiritual research does not place people at theoretical points of inquiry, but at points of experience—points that, with all the power of experience, challenge us to continue our exploration. And no one will truly be able to penetrate the spiritual world in the proper sense unless they have experienced what I have just spoken of and have convinced themselves of how one can plunge into non-being through thinking: I think, therefore I am not.

[ 27 ] Thus, the study of nature yields a very remarkable result. Without thinking, we could not gain insight into nature. It is precisely that which, I would say, presents itself to us with the most robust existence that generates something in our inner life through which we experience the non-existence of this very soul-being. In the lecture the day after tomorrow, when I will speak about the science of the soul, the aim will be to continue this line of thought in a popular form. But now I must point out something that demonstrates this from the other side as well: I am not, and I recognize this by thinking; I am not in thinking—and how this experience is met by another from a completely different side within the human soul. It is met by the fact that, for the unbiased observer of the soul, there is something that does not reveal itself to thought, something that thought cannot approach. Anyone who explores the history of philosophy with a sound mind, anyone who takes the trouble to study those who have seriously engaged with the mysteries of human knowledge and life, will find that there is always and everywhere something in human soul life where a person says to themselves: “No matter how astutely you may wish to proceed with your cognition, disciplined by the observation of nature, you cannot know that which is contained within the will.”

[ 28 ] Usually, the puzzle referred to here is obscured by listing all the difficulties that arise in relation to the concept of free will. Schopenhauer, who was astute in some matters but always stopped halfway or even a quarter of the way there, pushed the concept related to thought to one side and the will to the other. Yet he did not grasp precisely or sharply enough the experience that the human soul has with the will, in that all thinking proves to be at odds with the will. We simply cannot penetrate the will. But there is something in human life that reveals itself to the most critical and unbiased observation of the soul, where, in a peculiar way, the impulses of the will surge into the life of the soul precisely when it has nothing to do with thinking—specifically with the kind of thinking derived from the observation of nature. One might say: Thinking derived from the observation of nature and that which comes from the will cannot be spiritually or chemically united in ordinary conscious life. These are things that repel one another: natural thinking and everything that comes from the will.

[ 29 ] Thus, two entirely distinct spheres of the soul emerge: on the one hand, thinking—especially fully conscious reflection; on the other hand, the waves that rise up into the life of the soul from certain depths—we will hear shortly what these depths are—and that originate from the will. These are the waves that, when fully conscious thinking—gained through observation of the external natural world—fades, surge into our soul life during nighttime sleep in the form of dreams. That which surges into our inner life in the form of dream images—and which truly has nothing to do with conscious thinking—conjures up images before the soul that exclude conscious thinking; we discover that it comes from the same regions from which the will arises—a will that, too, cannot be comprehended in the depths where human beings live in communion with nature. Now one might say: So, you, the spiritual researcher, want to lead us into the realm of dreams in such an unsatisfactory way.

[ 30 ] Admittedly, the realm of dreams is a mysterious one, and anyone who approaches it with a genuine, sound scientific spirit will discover an immense amount; yet it is also one that attracts all those who, in a charlatanic or superstitious manner, seek to enter the supernatural world—and therefore demands particular caution. Above all, it must be said that anyone who explores the dream world with regard to the content of dreams is completely mistaken. This is done frequently today. Entire scientific schools of thought have therefore been founded on inadequate premises. Anyone who studies the life of dreams in terms of their content will, precisely through keen observation, come to realize that from the moment of falling asleep until waking—when fully conscious thinking is silent—something happens; we cannot say whether it occurs within the human being or outside in the world; something happens that surges up into the dreams. But what happens there, the person does not understand at first. It does not even enter into their conscious life. Unconsciously, they overlay what does not enter their consciousness with the reminiscences of their ordinary consciousness—with memories, with mental images that can always be found if one searches closely enough. Therefore, anyone who seeks to gain anything from the content of dreams—whether through a dream wish or through reminiscence—is on the wrong track. The point is not to investigate anything that corresponds to the content of dreams. This content of dreams actually reveals no more about dreams than a child who wants to say something about nature. Just as we do not turn to a child’s consciousness when we want to explain something about nature to ourselves, but rather to the consciousness that has observed nature, so too can we not turn to the statements of the dream when we wish to explore the realm that weaves and flows beneath the surface of the dream.

[ 31 ] In earlier periods of human development, however, there were scientific schools of thought—which can no longer be valid in today’s age of natural science—that offered certain possibilities for gleaning something of the world’s mysteries from the content of dream life. But those times are past. I will have more to say about this in the following lectures. Today, it will be up to those who have disciplined their thinking through the observation of nature, in particular, to bring to mind the kind of experience one has when dreaming.

[ 32 ] Just as enlightenment regarding thought can only be achieved through meditation, so too can this enlightenment regarding the state of mind one is in during a dream only be achieved through a specific form of spiritual inquiry. Just as the former can be called meditation, the latter can be called contemplation. The point is to set aside all the content of dream life, but to try to experience within oneself what one is like in that life when one dreams—how one relates to the senses and their manifestations, how one has, on the one hand, become detached from these senses, yet how there is still a certain connection to sensory life, and how there is a certain connection to one’s entire inner organic being. This peculiar weaving and life of the dream can only be experienced by intimately attempting to consciously go through in the soul what otherwise takes place unconsciously in the “dream.”

[ 33 ] Now the question arises: Why does this happen so rarely in ordinary conscious life? In ordinary conscious life, a person does not surrender to such an experience of the dream life; on the contrary, through subconscious forces, they mistakenly overlay what they experience in a “dream” with all manner of life reminiscences and memories. If one begins, in a contemplative manner, to truly immerse oneself in that finer weaving in which one is usually found when dreaming—but now, when one consciously enters it—one sees how one is there in a completely different, I would say, much lighter, less heavy experience than when facing external nature, when one walks, stands, and acts within it. If one comes to know this life, then one also learns to answer the question of why people overlay dream life with all sorts of ideas drawn from waking life, why they misinterpret it, and why they would rather accept the error regarding the dream than truly immerse themselves in the fabric of the dream. One also learns to recognize how our overall state of being in this dream life relates to sleep in general—just as one learns through meditation what goes on in the organism when one thinks.

[ 34 ] One comes to realize that a person does not want to allow an unconscious feeling of antipathy to rise up from certain subterranean depths with which he is connected. As the dream impulse strikes our soul, it plunges the soul into a subconscious feeling of antipathy—one might say, at first, into a feeling—as strange as it sounds, it is true—of oversaturation, which can be compared to the revulsion a person feels when faced with oversaturation. And so a person does not allow certain unconscious impulses of this feeling of antipathy to rise to the surface, but rather suppresses them precisely through images that he weaves from his own inner life over the dream consciousness. And one can only overcome, come to recognize clearly, and adopt the proper attitude toward what initially announces itself through feelings of antipathy, is only possible if one now applies this state of mind—brought about, on the one hand, through meditation and, on the other, through the contemplation just described—to connect the thinking that one has truly recognized as leading one into nothingness with that toward which one initially feels an unconscious antipathy. These two things can be united: this thinking, of which we must say, “I think, therefore I am not”—which cannot enter into an inner soul experience similar to the external sensory world—enters into the experience that becomes ours once we have first overcome the antipathy just described. And whoever connects both—that which is perceived as repulsive and is therefore veiled by dreams, and that which is felt in hunger, that is, in a subconscious sympathy toward something one cannot come to know unless one comes to know contemplation—whoever connects both of these is in the supersensory world. Through thinking—which at first led him to terrible cliffs, which at first seemed to plunge him into the abyss of non-being—he finds, through this fully conscious thinking, cultivated precisely through the natural sciences, in the very imagination that human beings shy away from so strongly that they flood it with dreams, he finds the supersensible world. The path into the supersensible world is one that, as you can see, is intimately connected with inner spiritual experiences that need only be sought within the very nature of the human constitution itself. And you see, these bear very little resemblance to what people actually expect today. What disappointments people must be experiencing right now with regard to what they had expected! Who, before 1914, could have anticipated what has now come upon the entire world!

[ 35 ] Spiritual science requires a certain inner courage, a certain inner willingness to change one’s perspective—toward that which appeals to soul forces that descend deeper than contemporary thinking is accustomed to, yet which fully meet the demands of natural science and, far from leading one into nebulous mysticism, do the very opposite. If a person truly learns to penetrate—with fully conscious thinking, trained precisely by the natural sciences—into the world I have just spoken of, which weaves and lives beneath the world of dreams, then he gains the possibility of obtaining an intuition—not a concept, but an intuition—of the will, the free will. One must have wrestled with the problem of free will—as I have shown in my Philosophy of Freedom—one must have wrestled with the problem of freedom and sought, in direct experience, that path which so mysteriously conceals itself from us behind that inner life of the soul into which thinking quite obviously cannot penetrate. If one has wrestled with it, then one also finds the path to an insight into free will. But then one also finds the path into the spiritual world. For fully conscious thinking, as spiritual science understands it, is capable not of weaving those childish, erroneous images as dreams over an unknown reality, but rather of weaving into the underlying spiritual reality—which is discovered as spiritual—the imaginative world.

[ 36 ] Now imaginations arise that are true reflections of the spiritual-supersensory world. The dream is that which is projected from the supersensory world, because it is projected into that world which has nothing to do with thinking. If we delve a little beneath the surface, we can bring what truly lies beneath that surface into contact with fully conscious thinking. Then images arise—but now they are images of supersensible reality. And thinking, which had already threatened to lead into non-being, re-emerges in the supersensible world through what I have called “imaginative perception of the spiritual world” in my book How to Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds or in my Outline of Esoteric Science,

[ 37 ] This imaginative perception, which initially provides us with images of a supersensible world—images of those beings and forces that lie behind the sensory world—this imaginative thinking is by no means a dream. For this imaginative thinking is permeated, as you can see, precisely by the most serious, fully conscious thinking—the kind of thinking that is so powerful that it first admits to itself: “I think, therefore I am not.”

[ 38 ] But by choosing this transition, thought moves from the experience of non-being into the supersensible experience of spiritual being, which initially presents itself to us in images and imaginations, because we immerse ourselves in the will. Because we now truly come to know the world that otherwise remains in the subconscious, we also penetrate beyond the images. We learn to handle the images just as we otherwise learn to handle our inner life. Through this, the mere life of images expands into the life that I call—using an expression that may be open to criticism, since it is associated with all manner of preconceived notions from the past, though, as I have shown in my book How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?, it has nothing to do with them—what I call inspired knowledge. The essence of the spiritual world begins to speak through imagination, revealing itself in its immediate reality. Imagination is initially imagery; but the human soul permeates thinking—which was already on the verge of failing into non-being—with the experience of the will. And in the end, one encounters the will. In the supersensible realm, our supersensible will comes into contact with the supersensible will of the spiritual worlds and beings: inspiration, inspired insight, comes to our aid. And the entire process of imagination and inspiration can now also rise into consciousness. I call this raising of imagination and inspiration into consciousness true intuition—not that nebulous intuition often spoken of in everyday consciousness, but true intuition, the standing within the spiritual world.

[ 39 ] The lectures that follow will deal with specific aspects of what one experiences in relation to the human soul, and in relation to those entities and forces that lie behind nature, behind social life, behind religious life, and behind historical life. Today, however, I would like to answer the following question: How is it, then, that this spiritual science—which, as I have just explained, relies on evidence that presupposes the best scientific education, evidence that is formed entirely according to the model of the natural sciences—how is it that this spiritual science finds it so difficult to take root in the consciousness of people today?

[ 40 ] The obstacles standing in the way of spiritual science must be investigated. And it is precisely then that it will become clear why the question is not being considered: How, exactly, does spiritual research prove supersensible knowledge? — You see, based on the way I have described the path of spiritual research to you, spiritual research proves itself first on the basis of serious scientific thinking, and then also through a path that is entirely a continuation of the scientific approach. And yet, people who are first introduced to spiritual research—as it is understood here—find all sorts of logical reasons that sound very convincing. In fact, as a spiritual researcher, one often even has a certain respect for the opponents’ arguments. The spiritual researcher by no means considers the opponents to be foolish. Nor does one counter such attacks out of a certain fanaticism in the usual sense. One respects the opponent because one often finds their reasons not foolish, but on the contrary, quite intelligent. And on the other hand, natural science will perhaps repeatedly and consistently object to the spiritual research referred to here by arguing that spiritual research itself is simply limited.

[ 41 ] We have seen why boundaries must exist: because human beings are meant to be capable of love and memory. Just as in life we alternate between waking and sleeping—and one cannot exist without the other—so too must spiritual research stand alongside natural science in this regard, alongside the life that must be lived in the capacity for memory and love; for, first of all, spiritual research does not claim, in its findings, that which can be remembered —the day after tomorrow, when we discuss spiritual science’s study of the soul, we will see what the situation with memory actually is—and because what emerges from spiritual research is the only thing the human soul can experience without making a claim to what is otherwise so necessary in life: the capacity for memory. And on the other hand, regarding the capacity for love, it must be said: through that deeper penetration into what otherwise rises from the subconscious as antipathy, we enhance the capacity for love, so that spiritual research does not destroy the capacity for love, but rather enhances it. Just as waking exists alongside sleeping, or sleeping alongside waking—both necessary for maintaining human health—and can coexist, but not one without the other, nor one in place of the other—so, for the reason indicated, spiritual research may stand alongside natural science. Nevertheless, it will always be clearly and conclusively demonstrated why such limits to scientific knowledge must exist—time and again, both from the scientific community and from those who believe they can attain a popular worldview based on natural science.

[ 42 ] We are speaking of what spiritual science is meant to dispel as supersensible knowledge. When the spiritual researcher, through the self-observation of the soul—which is necessary in order to bring before one’s consciousness everything that has been stated today—when he delves into the life of the human soul through this self-observation, he finds the following: First, because thinking has a tendency to plunge the human being into the abyss of non-being—initially into non-being in relation to the external sensory world—in that the human being has a certain, if I may say so, horror of this immersion in thinking—insofar as this thinking takes on its true form through genuine immersion—this means that spiritual research does not give rise to the need to truly penetrate the nature of reflection, starting from itself. One avoids this penetration into the nature of reflection. One does not, however, realize why one avoids it. One avoids it out of a subconscious feeling, which is no less active for that and over which one has no control, precisely because it is subconscious. It is a certain feeling of fear, a subconscious fear of beginning with nothingness. And this subconscious fear generates, as its opposite pole, a lack of interest—rooted in its spiritual foundations—toward natural phenomena themselves. One does not want to look at natural phenomena where they show everywhere that they cannot be explained from within themselves. One must go further; one must seek a complement to them from an entirely different angle. Disinterest—stopping short when one should actually be delving deeper—is the opposite of fear. Again, a subconscious disinterest. That, on the one hand, esteemed audience.

[ 43 ] On the other hand: How must one immerse oneself in that world in which one feels one is losing oneself—in the delicate weaving and essence that otherwise reigns in “dreams” and “sleep,” in which one is withdrawn from the robust standing in external nature, withdrawn from the robust sense of being that one cultivates within the external sensory world? Once again, one feels as if one is losing the balance, that firmness upon which one stands; one steps out of the sense of security one has acquired in relation to the perceived sensory world. If one does not wish to go further, one enters, in some way, into a state of imbalance. One feels as if one is losing the solid ground beneath one’s feet.

[ 44 ] Once again, it is subconscious fear that sets in, and it is all the more effective because one does not bring it into conscious awareness. But whatever lies in the subconscious weaves itself into images, weaves itself into ideas, and masks itself. Just as in natural life the subconscious spiritual life masks itself in dreams, so too do subconscious fear and subconscious indifference mask themselves. What truly exists within the so-called scientific worldview when spiritual research is rejected? In truth, there is a subconscious lack of interest in nature itself. This masks itself in all sorts of sound hypotheses and sound logical arguments about the limits of knowledge—arguments that usually fall short of the true limits of knowledge that have been outlined here before you today. The limits of knowledge, which are often falsely cited as reasons in those worldviews, are masks for subconscious indifference. And the sound logical arguments—which, as I said, must even be respected by the spiritual researcher, because everything in the human being can be understood precisely through them; which, moreover, always demonstrate a certain intellectual acuity—these sound logical arguments are, once again, masks. Human beings simply need something to suppress the subconscious, to prevent it from becoming perceptible or tangible: the fear of what spiritual science leads to—which, however, alone encompasses the truth—this fear prevents people from delving into the reasons for existence through spiritual science. And this fear masks itself in consciousness as logical reasons. The most elegant logical arguments are put forward. One cannot object to their logic at all; they are merely masks for subconscious fear.

[ 45 ] Anyone who sees through this—that even very sound, very respectable logical arguments arise in consciousness as the result of subconscious fear; that very respectable arguments can arise to justify limits on knowledge intended to make spiritual research impossible—will view the interconnectedness of the world differently. Above all, such a person sees the difficulties that must inevitably arise for spiritual science, which strives for what—as we shall see in later lectures—every human being is already seeking and desiring in the depths of their subconscious, and which presents this to humanity in a comprehensible worldview that is truly satisfying for humanity’s future. These difficulties still arise today because people convince themselves that they have good reasons to oppose spiritual science—since they do not admit their fear—and that they have good reasons for setting limits that cannot be transcended by supersensible knowledge, since they do not admit their lack of interest in natural phenomena themselves.

[ 46 ] Whoever sees through the veil behind which the truth is hidden views the world differently. They also view human life differently. But just as, at a certain point in time, the Copernican worldview had to replace an earlier, spatially based worldview—necessitated by the evolution of worldviews—so too must the spiritual-scientific worldview emerge in the present and look toward the future. Two obvious facts seem to be at work in the present to ensure that it will emerge—that, despite the obstacles now characterized even in their depths, it will have the potential to penetrate human minds, despite all the resistance that the Copernican worldview itself encountered: on the one hand, the fact that we have entered the age of natural science. We shall see in the third lecture that the more precisely one comes to know nature—the less one arbitrarily limits oneself to prejudiced conceptions of nature—the more one will penetrate into supersensible research. And as scientific research advances further and further beyond the boundaries that are still set for it today toward its ideals, it will open the doors to supersensible knowledge all the more. This, on the one hand.

[ 47 ] On the other hand, one need only look at the realities of life on Earth today. One need only examine, among the many surprises that modern times have brought to humanity, what is demanded of human beings—insofar as they simply wish to be earthly human beings—both in the present and looking into the future: There will be a demand for a much more intense grounding in one’s own self, a much more intense search for inner balance. This inner balance, however, bears a great spiritual resemblance to the balance that must be sought when thought enters the world from which dreams otherwise swirl up—the supersensible world. Because the human being of the future will have to possess far more courage, far more fearlessness—even in social life and in the general life of the world—far more courage than the human being who has, after all, lulled himself one-sidedly, precisely through the great advances of technology, into a certain complacency of thought, imagination, and feeling, therefore spiritual research may hope that the time when many minds will draw strength and composure for their souls from it is not far off.

[ 48 ] Spiritual research is not based on theories; it is not based on abstract ideas; it is not based on fantasies; it is based entirely on facts. Even in the prospects it holds for itself, it is based on facts. Because it is convinced that it has grown out of serious natural science, it relies on the fact that the progress of natural science will bring it closer to humanity. Because it seeks to grow out of life—out of the innermost, most powerful life—it relies on the fact that it will also be granted entry into this life by human beings who, in relation to these forces, will be increasingly and more strongly engaged by life—in the present life and in the future life.

Questions and Answers

[ 49 ] Question: Is it possible to convey an idea of how matter and force appear when viewed from the spiritual world?

[ 50 ] Since this would really take up far too much of our time—which, after all, is limited to 10:00 a.m.—I would like to begin by discussing matter in relation to these two concepts. If one applies the perspective I have outlined today and this line of inquiry to something such as, for example, matter itself, then one increasingly comes to see that human beings are actually caught between two cliffs—I have, after all, already described these cliffs to you on several occasions today—between two cliffs that define their entire relationship to the world. On the one hand, human beings are constantly driven to think of the events and things that present themselves to them in an anthropomorphic way, as one says—to humanize them, to imagine them in such a way that they transfer what they experience in their inner life or otherwise within themselves to the external world; or else he is compelled to stick strictly to mere observation and not to form any concepts at all. Most of you in this esteemed audience will know how greatly these two pitfalls have preoccupied the human race throughout the ages with regard to human thought. This is particularly true when one comes to such concepts as matter and force; it then becomes apparent that one cannot navigate past these pitfalls using ordinary views. You can imagine that when one approaches these things with the complete transformation of the scientific mindset, as I have indicated today, many things must turn out to be precisely the opposite of ordinary views.

[ 51 ] If we want to approach the concept of “substance” in the sense of the humanities, the best way to do so is to first imagine what it is like. It is merely a visualization. When we have a bottle of seltzer water with carbon dioxide bubbles in front of us, what we see above all are the carbon dioxide bubbles, which are actually much thinner than the surrounding water and are, in fact, embedded in it. And one might say—relatively speaking, of course: they are carbon dioxide, after all—but they are relatively less than the water. So we’re actually seeing embedded nothingness. Well, of course, I have to take a big leap now.

[ 52 ] We experience the same thing with matter when we view the world from a spiritual-scientific perspective. The senses perceive the space-filling entities in space, which we then call matter. The spirit realizes that where the senses perceive matter, the senses experience it in the same way that we experience carbon dioxide. We actually see that which has been cut out of the spiritual world. And that which has been cut out of the spiritual world—which exists within the spiritual world just as these carbon dioxide bubbles exist in water—we call matter. So we must actually say: What we experience when we encounter matter is, in essence, the perception that this is where the spirit ends. So it is not that we “reach” matter that we must regard as essential in the spiritual-scientific sense, but rather that where the senses tell us, “We are reaching matter”—that is where the spirit ceases. So that we must in fact—as surprising as it may seem—describe matter as the voids within the spiritual.

[ 53 ] Anyone who thinks this image through to its conclusion will realize that empty spaces do indeed have their own effect. One would not take the position that what is unfilled—the hollow—could have no effect. You know that when air is pumped out of the air pump’s container, the hollow space acts upon the surrounding air; the air whistles in. Thus, in the context of things, what has been hollowed out does not mean ineffectiveness. Therefore, we need not be surprised that we come up against a stone, since the stone, in terms of its substance, is a hollowing out within the spirituality that permeates the world. I say this merely as a hint. — This is what does not shed light on matter itself, but what points the way to how one can gain insight into matter.

[ 54 ] Question: How does what is referred to tonight as “will” relate to Bergson’s “élan vital”? How does it intuitively relate to the types of knowledge in the humanities?

[ 55 ] What I have called “will” today is nothing other than that which, although many people deny it, every person knows from direct observation, yet can never be grasped by thought.

[ 56 ] Serious psychologists—especially those in the natural sciences—take Ziehen, for example, or anyone else you care to choose—find ways to demonstrate a certain affinity between the structure of thought and the structure of the nervous system, the brain, and the like. Everywhere—especially in scientific psychology—one finds a certain satisfaction in expressing, through organic structures, that which is intellectually grasped in the structure of thought. Of course, this approach always leads astray; for the day after tomorrow we will see how strange it is to believe that mental life originates from the brain. It is just as if one were to believe that, when there is a mirror and one walks up to it, the person coming toward us—which is our own image—must be coming from behind the mirror. It depends on the nature of the mirror—whether it is flat or round—what kind of image we see. But there is simply nothing behind the mirror. Anyone who seeks anything beyond the limits set by nature and beyond the human brain—which merely reflects the life of the soul—is just like someone who smashes the mirror in order to get to the bottom of the image that comes from it.

[ 57 ] So I have called “will” that which is experienced in ordinary mental life—that which is an inner perception, but which is increasingly regarded as incomprehensible. The so-called scientific psychologists find that imagination and thought are structurally related to their organic nature. But as soon as they move from thinking to feeling and then to the will, they explain: Here one must speak of will or feeling at most as nuances—Theodor Ziehen calls them “emotional emphases” or “conceptual emphases”—one must speak of emphases in concepts, for here one finds nothing that would be analogous to sensory perception. And that is why the will eludes understanding—even though it is quite obviously present—and is denied only by those who do not orient themselves toward reality, but rather toward what they claim to be able to comprehend scientifically. In the natural sciences, only causality is valid, and since the will does not act causally, they say, the will does not exist. But what actually exists is not determined by what one can comprehend. That is merely a human prejudice.

[ 58 ] So I refer to the will as a very concrete experience, and I have merely shown that what we encounter in our most ordinary consciousness can only be understood if we dive down through meditative thinking into the world from which, otherwise, only dreams—which are distant from us—emerge. I point to the place where the will is to be found. This is a scientific method that has merely been transferred to the spiritual realm, but it must be understood in a different way than a mere sensory fact. Bergson’s “élan vital” is mere fantasy, a mere abstraction. From the sequence of phenomena, one thinks one’s way into that which is taking place. Certainly, there are many reasons to think our way into what is taking place, but that is not the path of a true spiritual science. The path is that facts—even if they are only spiritual facts—point everywhere to where something is found, where something lies, rather than introducing hypotheses—things that are merely imagined—into the world of phenomena.

[ 59 ] Bergson’s intuition is, after all, essentially nothing other than a special case of the very path that I have today quite decisively rejected as fruitless for the humanities, having characterized it in such a way that, while the humanities scholar is indeed familiar with the mystical path and has mystical experience, he nevertheless demonstrates that the mystical path cannot lead him to true knowledge. Bergson is familiar only with one aspect of thought, in which, however, one thing is evident: that it does not penetrate to true being. He describes this at great length by characterizing it from every angle. That is why he turns his back on this kind of thought. Spiritual science does not turn its back on this thinking, but rather experiences, in all its intensities, an abyss into which this thinking seems to lead; it does not deny this thinking—which Bergson ultimately does—but instead seeks another path, precisely the one I have described, in order to emerge from the abyss and rise again into a spiritual, supersensory being. Bergson simply says that one cannot approach reality through thinking. Thus, he seeks only through a specific mystical path based on inner experience.

[ 60 ] The intuition to which Bergson arrives essentially finds nothing concretely real. Today I have been able to characterize only the path of spiritual science. In the next three lectures, I will characterize concrete results—specific results—insights that one arrives at, which serve life and the whole of human existence. Bergson constantly revolves around just this: One cannot think; one must grasp the world inwardly—and he always points to intuition. But nothing enters into this intuition; it remains, after all, an indeterminate, darkly mystical experience.

[ 61 ] This probably suits many of my contemporaries because they do not need to accomplish for themselves what I have just called for as the task of spiritual science: a truly radical transformation of the mind—one that does not merely seek to revel in mysticism, but that seeks with genuine seriousness to penetrate all that, as I have shown, human thought fears on the basis of certain presuppositions, in which it has no interest, and which is all subconscious. Essentially, Bergson does not escape this lack of interest at all; rather, he cultivates it all the more. And he does not escape this fear. For these intuitions do not lead to a concrete understanding of the spiritual world, but remain merely an inner experience.