The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Fourth Lecture

[ 1 ] In the coming days, my task will be to articulate in these reflections the ideas that outline the paths of knowledge leading to the supersensory worlds and to the practical application of the results of this supersensory research. However, I have made it my particular task this time, for the purpose of shaping these ideas, to provide a kind of orientation regarding how the ideas that may arise in supersensible-anthroposophical science establish a valid relationship with those worldviews that have gained influence over humanity in recent times and that, to some extent, still exert this influence. Guided by these intentions, I spoke yesterday about some aspects of Friedrich Nietzsche’s quest, and I believe it should have become clear that the tragedy of Friedrich Nietzsche’s soul ultimately manifested itself most notably in the fact that, in order to arrive at a truly human-worthy view of life, he had to, so to speak, transcend humanity and grasp the idea of the Übermensch. In Nietzsche’s view, humanity—for which he could find no satisfying meaning—vanished, and he yearned for a worldview that he could express only lyrically or abstractly in his idea of the Übermensch. On the other hand, Nietzsche felt the need to look beyond the individual human life between birth and death in search of a comprehensive explanation of human life and the existence of the world; but in this search, he arrived only at his idea of the return of the same—the eternal recurrence of the very same earthly lives of the individual human being. In other words: he could not elicit enough from what a person holds within themselves between birth and death—from what can be experienced during this span of time—to give real substance to his concept of repeated earthly lives, and so it remained an abstract idea of the mere repetition of these earthly lives.

[ 2 ] If one investigates more closely how Nietzsche arrived at this tragedy of the soul—why he could elicit nothing else from his profound human striving—one ultimately arrives, I believe, at the conclusions I set forth at the beginning of this century in my essay on Nietzsche’s personality as a psychopathological problem, published in the *Wiener klinische Rundschau*. It became clear to me that, while Nietzsche undoubtedly possessed a striving for a comprehensive view of the entirety of human existence, this urge resided within an organism that was unhealthy from the very beginning; and that this reveals how, on the one hand, his soul developed a kind of free flight precisely because of the organism’s unhealthiness, yet how this flight itself could not be entirely healthy as a result. This, however, points to the need to seek out precisely the healthy sources of knowledge inherent in the anthroposophical worldview.

[ 3 ] With Nietzsche, one finds that he was never able to develop a truly deep relationship with the modern scientific worldview. To him, it always remained, in a sense, something crude—something that had a repulsive effect on his refined sensibilities. He could not come to terms with ideas such as those of Darwin except by shattering them, by turning his gaze away from them, and by refusing to acknowledge how humans physically evolved from other organisms; instead, he leaned toward the postulate that the Übermensch must develop from the human being. Now, even if, as it seems to me, one were to have penetrated as deeply as possible into an experience of spiritual worlds, one cannot arrive at a formulation of one’s views that is satisfactory for the present day unless one is able to draw the lines from spiritual insight to the scientific worldview of modern times.

[ 4 ] At the same time that my *Philosophy of Freedom* was published—a work that initially sought to reveal human impulses to action in an anthroposophical way as supersensible, and thereby to provide a foundation for human ethics—a sensational account of Haeckel’s Altenburg lecture, “Monism as the Link Between Religion and Science,” was published. And I do not believe that the path which contemporary humanity must travel to reach the sources of knowledge in anthroposophical research can be fruitfully described without taking into account what has entered our present age precisely through a worldview such as Haeckel’s monism. Nietzsche’s tragedy lies precisely in the fact that he was unable to come to terms with such a thing.

[ 5 ] Haeckel’s monism is certainly open to criticism in many respects; however, once one has truly immersed oneself in such a way of thinking, one must acknowledge that it embodies the perspective that has emerged from modern natural science—a perspective that, in Haeckel’s case, took on a religious, one might even say fanatical, character. But one cannot simply dismiss Haeckel, as so many wish to do, by merely pointing to his clichés in *The Natural History of Creation*. That is a matter which, I would say, happened to him due to a certain scientific sloppiness. He drew early-stage embryos in such a way that, for forms that were indeed not very different—but still different—he simply used the same clichés. But it is too simplistic to dismiss Haeckel’s entire monistic way of thinking on the basis of such carelessness, for it nonetheless embodies—in its purest form—what a mind driven by consistency, arising from the modern spirit of research, found compelling. This modern spirit of research has, after all, fostered a penchant for observation and experimentation. It has urged the elimination of all subjective influences on the worldview of nature; it has caused thought to become exceptionally disciplined and methodical in the pursuit of observation and experimentation. And even if Haeckel exhibits certain errors precisely in this regard, one will always sense, throughout the entirety of his expositions, this discipline and systematization of thought—and at the same time, an artistic drive toward solving the highest problems that can arise, particularly from scientific research, even concerning human beings.

[ 6 ] What I had to say about Goethe—that he possessed a unique spiritual disposition that enabled him to penetrate the multifaceted and evolving plant world with his vivid ideas— this simultaneously provided the basis for understanding that Goethe was an eminent mind for the study of the plant world, but on the other hand, it also raised a reservation when one sees how Goethe, with his vivid ideas, was unable to continue on the path to treating the realm of animal life in a way that would satisfy him.

[ 7 ] Haeckel, I would say, emerged from the very spirit of the 1850s—the era in which he spent his student years—and turned his attention directly to the study of animal life. For him, it became necessary to investigate the form and development of animal beings, to explore how the diverse animal beings are interconnected within the existence of the world. One cannot say that Haeckel stood on the same level as Goethe in applying his scientific spirit to the animal world; for Goethe constantly strove to clarify, through a certain self-observation, what he was investigating, and thereby to come to terms with himself regarding how much is provided by external perception and how much must be added through a -supersensible perception, as he called it, must be added to external sensory perception in order to grasp true reality—namely, that of the plant kingdom. Haeckel proceeded more like a naive mind; there was something within him that predestined him precisely to penetrate the development of the animal world. But Haeckel lacked that sense of self-observation that one can observe in Goethe. That is why he never really gained a clear understanding of how human beings, as such, are situated in the world—a world he felt compelled to explore in the same way that Haeckel attempted to explore the animal world.

[ 8 ] However, since the person who, in the sense of Anthroposophy as understood here, wishes to ascend from the sensory-physical world into the supersensible world must, in his research in the latter, employ precisely the same spirit that correctly guides him into the sensory world—namely, the complex sensory world of animal organisms— one can gain insight into many aspects of the methods of natural science that are also part of the ascent into imagination, inspiration, and intuition—which are, after all, necessary for supersensible research—so that one may understand this from the standpoint of today’s scientific spirit. And when Haeckel’s Altenburg lecture came before me—I was well acquainted with Haeckel’s earlier writings—I had to tell myself: Despite all the errors Haeckel has made, he has established a standpoint regarding the sensory-physical world that must be upheld within that world if one wishes to enter the spiritual world from a secure foundation. One must learn precisely how to conduct research—for example, in zoology—so as not to fall into fantasy, but rather to investigate phenomena in their purity. One must have learned this if one wishes to possess within oneself the sound firmness that entitles one to go beyond the sensory world. Before my soul stood what I must call: a methodical monism that is clear about the fact that all fanciful, amateurish rambling about life forces and the like must cease in the face of the achievements of recent research; that we must carry the same spirit we use in sensory research into supersensory research; and that we must not create an abyss between scientific and religious content.

[ 9 ] From the line of Haeckel’s thinking, as expressed in his Altenburg Monism Lecture, it became clear to me how all research should be conducted in a monistic sense. Of course, one can discuss at length the details put forward by this monism. There will certainly be many objections to many aspects of it, but as far as the fundamental spirit of monistic thinking is concerned, I have, in essence, no objection to it from my anthroposophical standpoint. Insofar as monism arises from a correct understanding of valid research findings, I do not engage in polemics against it. I cannot help but affirm the content of monism from an anthroposophical standpoint; yet, on the other hand, even though I say “yes” to everything that legitimate monism has to say, I still have something else to add. That this “something else” is opposed precisely by monists is—given the premises I have just outlined—not my concern, but theirs.

[ 10 ] The point now, however, is to draw upon the concept of Haeckel’s monism in particular to gain some insight into the characteristics of the supersensible research methods, which I will need to describe in subsequent lectures. But when it comes to describing supersensible research methods, it is essential to describe the soul forces—which are, so to speak, hidden from ordinary consciousness but can be developed—soul forces that are present in the soul, that exist in the depths of the soul, but that remain hidden or latent to ordinary consciousness. But when one describes these soul forces, one is compelled to turn to the totality of human nature. For it is not only from this that what we have to say about things in abstract scientific terms springs forth, but from the depths of soul life—the very same depths from which our scientific methods spring—that which leads human beings to artistic creation also springs forth. Anthroposophical spiritual science must, from its own perspective, emphasize time and again that it addresses the whole, complete human being—not merely the intellectual being—and that, in doing so, it also comes to recognize the kinship between scientific research and artistic creation. In turning to this kinship, one is immediately reminded of Goethe.

[ 11 ] Goethe did not place art and science in such stark opposition as the abstract thinkers do; rather, he found that while one can scientifically unveil a certain aspect of the world’s mysteries, another aspect of these mysteries remains veiled unless one approaches the world with artistic sensitivity and creates artistically within oneself. It was from such a perspective, after all, that Goethe expressed, for example, the idea that “Beauty is a manifestation of secret laws of nature that would never become apparent without this beauty.” This means, however, that Goethe believed that no matter how much one might characterize nature through scientifically informed ideas, one would still not have the whole of nature before one. Through such an approach, they would still fail to penetrate certain depths of natural existence. These depths of natural existence—these mysteries of the world—only enter our consciousness and become vivid when we approach them with an artistic sensibility.

[ 12 ] Of course, the objections to such a view are extremely plausible and therefore seductive, but that does not make them valid, for one can even rigorously prove, using logical arguments based on a certain one-sided intellectual perspective, that so-called exact scientific knowledge can be attained only through logical thinking, which derives one concept from another in a continuous chain of judgments. But if nature—if the world—is not at all suited to submitting to such logical analysis through its own essence, then another path must be sought to understand it. And it is precisely the spiritual researcher who, on his path, finds many things that bring him very close to inner artistic creation, for what he must shape in order to develop supersensible powers of perception bears a great resemblance to what is at work in artistic creation. Goethe sensed this; that is why he also spoke these words: “Whoever to whom nature begins to reveal her manifest secret feels the deepest longing for her most worthy interpreter, art.”

[ 13 ] It does not detract from the precision of the ultimate conclusions reached in scientific inquiry when the soul must necessarily prepare itself for the ultimate precision of research through that which can have an artistic effect within it. It does not impair, but can only promote, the possibility that the soul—precisely through its artistic abilities—may develop within itself that which ultimately yields the best methods of knowledge. Therefore, one will have to address the topic I am raising here to some extent when describing the supersensible methods of knowledge: imagination, inspiration, and intuition.

[ 14 ] Goethe, I said, is particularly great because of his unique spiritual nature in his exploration of the plant world. Why is Goethe great specifically in his understanding of the nature of plants? To find an answer to this question, let us take a closer look at this Goethean disposition. If one makes the effort to bring its special character to mind, it becomes clear that the most characteristic feature of Goethe’s disposition is that he perceived everything that presented itself to his consciousness with a kind of inner, sculptural creative power. In a certain sense, Goethe was on his way to becoming a sculptor, and it seems to me that the most characteristic aspect of Goethe is precisely this: that sculptural power lay within the constitution of his soul, but that this sculptural power remained within this state of mind as an innermost, most hidden essence, never expressing itself outwardly through sculpture; that he was, so to speak, an inner sculptor in the shaping of his spiritual perceptions, yet did not seek the path to incorporate into external matter that which presented itself to his soul as a spiritual perception in the form of inner plasticity. It seems to me as though Goethe, in turning his gaze toward the plant world, viewed it with this sculptural state of mind, with a sculptural sensibility developed in every direction. Instead of working sculpturally in clay, instead of imprinting upon the clay what his sculptural sense had formed internally, Goethe turned his gaze to the plant; and instead of incorporating the sculptural form into the clay, the plant revealed to his soul the sculptural quality arising from its own life. This seems to me to be a part—and perhaps the most important part—of Goethe’s psychology.

[ 15 ] Now let us consider another fact alongside this one—a more general one. Let us consider the plastic arts. Certainly, one can do anything with anything, but if one applies an unbiased artistic sensibility, how must one then answer the following question: Is it possible, with a fully developed sense of form, to view sculpturally rendered plants in the same way as one views sculpturally rendered animals or humans? — Imagine in your mind’s eye a group of flowers—blooming plants sculpted in plaster or marble—before your eyes. I believe that with an unbiased sculptural sensibility, one would have to admit: Yes, the animal form and the human form can be incorporated into sculpture as a matter of course; but sculpturally rendered plants actually repel us. — Why is that? If one delves deeper into this psychological and artistic fact, one must conclude: The plant, in and of itself—just as it appears to us in nature—is already so artistically sculptural that nature does not permit us to go beyond this natural sculptural quality of the plant world itself with any form of sculpture. It is only natural to observe the plasticity of the plant world as it is, for one then recognizes that there is something inherent in the essence of the plant world that must already manifest itself plastically as something natural. There is nothing more to be added through any form of artistic sculpture.

[ 16 ] Let us now consider a spirit who, like Goethe, is placed in the world in a thoroughly natural way, and let us consider him with his particular mental disposition and his particular abilities. He is not trained to become a true sculptor, yet he brings a sculptural quality to everything he does. Observe how sculpture itself plays a role even in his most accomplished poetic works; how *Iphigenia*, *Tasso*, and *The Natural Daughter* all reveal the sculptural creative power even within the dramatic form. Goethe is, in a sense, a sculptor in everything he does, but he never gets around to shaping that sculptural creative power into sound. Yet since he has the deepest urge to live in complete harmony with nature, where will he find satisfaction for what lies so deep within him—his sculptural sensibility? Where nature acts most purely as a sculptor: in the plant world. And now, looking at Goethe’s own perspective, one can see how the inner sense of the human soul must, in a sense, incline toward sculpture in order to grasp the plant world for what it naturally is—to grasp it in the way that its very life embodies a natural sculpture.

[ 17 ] When dealing with the inorganic, we cannot make do with such a form of representation. For a large part of the inorganic world, we resort to measuring, counting, and weighing. These are activities that actually tear the form apart; and even if, in inorganic science, we rise above this tearing apart of form to grasp the crystal, our concern in inorganic science itself is not to internally experience the crystal’s specific plastic form, but rather to calculate the angles of the faces, the inclinations of the boundary lines, and so on. We attempt to comprehend this form from that which analyzes it.

[ 18 ] Such a perspective would not have satisfied Goethe’s spirit, especially in relation to the plant world. His morphology became a view of metamorphosis. He had to grasp the form of the plant directly in its plasticity in order to gain insight into the transformation of individual plant forms into one another. And so his perception of the plant world became a dynamic, inner plastic art. There is, therefore, something in the plant that compels a naturally inclined mind to transform its insights into inner, sculptural forms—to make them into inner, sculptural forms. By doing this—by allowing that which, I might say, lives through the entire plant world in its sculptural power to come alive in his soul—Goethe arrived at the essence of the plant world. Call it what you will: in anthroposophical science, we have become accustomed to calling that which Goethe perceived in the plant with his plastic sense the etheric body of the plant. I will likely have more to say about why in the coming days. But whatever one chooses to call it, one must adhere to the way in which one must approach the very fabric and essence of the plant world with a sense of perception as natural as that which Goethe possessed. And one must then see how, in sculpture itself, one can elaborate in artistic material—for the animal form and for the human form—that which one must now shape through the contemplation of the plant world. It is that which animates the plant and which, through this sculptural sense, one finds within the animal and the human being as well. If one calls that which so interweaves the plant—and which one grasps with the sculptural sense—the etheric body, then one finds this etheric body also in the animal and human organism. And the sculptor strives to shape what permeates the animal and human organisms—even though there is, of course, something else there as well—when he creates his sculptural forms of the animal and human organisms.

[ 19 ] But when one looks at an animal in nature, or at a human being, the mere form of the etheric body is concealed; something else is superimposed upon it, and through this “something else”—as it were, through an abstraction—one sees that which lives within the form as the etheric body. Thus, one can say that Goethe’s special disposition enabled him to gain deep insight into the plant world. One might say that a person with an artistic disposition retains a certain artistic orientation within, even when engaged in scientific work. This enables them to discover certain mysteries of the external world—mysteries that can only be discovered when this artistic capacity remains within.

[ 20 ] Ernst Haeckel turned his attention to the animal world, albeit in a more naive way than Goethe had done with regard to plants. And in a certain sense, one can say the following about Haeckel: If Goethe’s thinking, as I have explained in the preceding reflections, has rightly been described by Heinroth as “object-oriented”—that is, one in which the content of the soul is submerged in the objects—then one can certainly observe this, albeit initially in an imperfect way, in Haeckel’s zoological research methods as well. It is deeply significant when Haeckel, in an attempt to justify himself in his naive way, says that he finds not the form—which Goethe discovered by limiting himself to the plant kingdom—but rather the soul in animal beings. Haeckel speaks of the animal realm, and in doing so, he must speak of the soul.

[ 21 ] Goethe studied plant by plant; he studied the metamorphosis of form. Haeckel studied animal by animal; he did not stop at studying form, but went on to seek the animal-spiritual within the forms of the animal kingdom. And if someone had objected that he had no right to speak of this spiritual aspect even in the simplest forms of the animal kingdom, he would have repeated time and again what he actually did say: If someone, like me, has observed lower animal organisms—such as protists—over many decades and seen how their forms behave, then they cannot help but come to the conclusion, through this observation, that cell souls live within these cellular animals, souls that differ from the most complex souls only in terms of quality.

[ 22 ] Thus, on the one hand, Goethe said: When I walk through the plant world, I find what I must see in the simplest plant organism: a form, the type of the plant, the primordial plant. Even in the simplest plant, it offers me the same thing—differing only in quality—that I find in the most perfect plant as form, as a living, active archetype.

[ 23 ] Haeckel says, speaking not of the plant world but of the animal world: “When I survey the entire animal world, I find the spiritual element even in the simplest animal, and I find it metamorphosed in the most diverse ways, transformed into the most complex forms of animal life.”

[ 24 ] There is a certain kinship between Haeckel’s view of the “animal” and Goethe’s view of the “plant”; and if one attaches importance to this—if one does not regard it as something secondary that Goethe must speak of form while Haeckel speaks of the soul—then, I believe, one is on the path to discovering something quite significant. And how is it that, in Haeckel’s naive, inquiring mind, what Goethe strove for in a more conscious manner emerged in the way I have described? I sought an explanation for this fact, and I found it to my complete satisfaction when, on one occasion at an exhibition at the Giordano Bruno Society in Berlin, I looked through what was on display there of Haeckel’s—in part amateurish—paintings. This is something that leads into Haeckel’s psychology. Everywhere Haeckel is not only active as a researcher; everywhere he also sits down and paints, and everywhere he takes pleasure in simultaneously capturing in color what nature reveals to his scientific mind. One can still sense the joy he took in capturing these forms of the animal world in color when one spreads out before one the booklets Haeckel published under the title: “Art Forms in Nature.”

[ 25 ] Just as Goethe lived inwardly on a higher level within the plastic arts, so did Haeckel in the colors that the animal realm conjures up on its surface. And just as Goethe did not become a sculptor but preserved the sculptural within himself, so Haeckel did not become a painter but a naturalist; but an inner, essential aspect of his entire spiritual disposition was the act of painting in colors. This lived within him, and he sought that which now expresses itself in the external world in such a way that it emerges from his life—which is permeated by feeling—and reveals itself in color from the depths of his soul. This is what he sought to explore.

[ 26 ] But this brings us to what distinguishes the animal realm from the plant realm. Of course, one might say: Plants display colors even more so! — But everyone will sense that the innermost essence of the animal being is connected quite differently to what reveals itself as color than is the case with the plant realm. The plant realm actually lives in form, and color is, fundamentally speaking, something that one can easily see is brought to the plant from the outside in an essential way. One must study the relationship of the sun, the air, and other external factors to the plant if one wishes to observe the plant’s color. But if one wishes to understand the inner nature of the plant, then one must take in the plant’s form with a sculptural sense.

[ 27 ] The colors that appear on the surface of the animal do not depend on external conditions in the same way. Indeed, even when it is dependent—as in the case of mimicry—we still feel compelled to explain it in terms of specific conditions, because we have a sense that the coloring arises from within, out of a life imbued with sensations. But what matters is not so much the color as the life that can be relived by the human being by feeling and thinking in color. It is not the composition of the color that matters, but what one feels inwardly when one feels and thinks in colors. And just as one can speak of the etheric body in plants—which must be grasped through the plastic sense—so too must one speak, in the case of animals—and in a certain sense also in the case of human beings—of that which human beings and animals possess beyond what plants have, when one wishes to speak of the inner conditions of the colorful. And if one captures what the animal and the human being have in common with the plant, one captures it in colorless sculpture. When one turns to painting for humans and animals, one creates in both that which allows one to look inward through color, that which reveals the inner being—that which is no longer expressed merely in the metamorphosis of form, but which manifests itself in a deeper capacity for transformation inherent in life itself. What can be observed just as vividly in animals as in humans may, in turn, be called whatever one wishes: in anthroposophical spiritual science, we have become accustomed, based on the specific insight that arises from inspiration, to calling it the astral body. I will speak about this in the next lectures. But the very fact that one is impelled to explore the transformations and the becoming of the animal realm is connected to an inner state of soul that is different from the one that leads, as a plastic state of soul, into the plant realm.

[ 28 ] Although, as mentioned, in a more naive manner than Goethe, Haeckel was nonetheless predisposed to explore the animal world artistically. And that is what makes Haeckel appear as a particularly distinctive figure within the modern scientific worldview. The fact that he did not conduct his research in a superficial manner, but rather—I would say—from a restrained artistic sensibility, just as Goethe likewise approached plant metamorphosis from a restrained sculptural sensibility, led one, despite all of Haeckel’s errors, to nevertheless sense the inner truth of this Haeckelian monism and to see something in it, which, if the abandonment of his one-sidedness can be pursued further, may also lead not only to seeking what reveals itself externally in animals, in humans, and beyond the plant realm, but also to seeking it internally, in its very essence, through supersensory insights that are as strictly disciplined as sensory ones are today.

[ 29 ] There is, therefore, a way to fully engage with the modern spirit of inquiry, stemming from the deepest needs for a worldview that respects human dignity. There is a way to embrace, in a positive form, that which Nietzsche was essentially never able to come to terms with—and which led him to his deeply moving, yet also shattering, personal tragedy. The approach of modern natural science must indeed be carried over into the realm of anthroposophical spiritual science if one wishes to arrive at genuine, valid formulations of ideas, if one does not want to remain stuck in dilettantism and amateurism. Anyone who takes their time seriously must always maintain a certain relationship to their time. Therefore, when speaking of the sources of knowledge in anthroposophical spiritual science, it is necessary to point out this relationship to the other sources of knowledge of the present epoch. While much had to be said in the preceding lectures regarding the rejection of the agnostic way of thinking, today the first—perhaps still somewhat limited—outlook has been presented in a worldview that itself rejects agnosticism, as Haeckel’s monism did. And this hints at what this monism—even though it is in many respects outdated—can still mean for us today.

[ 30 ] When I wrote about Charles Lyell—one of the founders of modern scientific-monistic thought—in 1897, on the hundredth anniversary of his birth, Haeckel also stood vividly before my inner eye. A community appeared to me in my mind’s eye that might be capable of continuing that immersion in nature—which can be found in the lineage of thinkers from Lyell to Haeckel—in the direction in which it must be continued. That is why I wrote for this ideal community, which was to seek the path that had begun precisely with Haeckel’s monism, those words which, if understood correctly, may suggest that with this monism, at least for the time being, a barrier has been crossed beyond which one may no longer return to earlier times—unless one wishes to deal with the forces of decline rather than those of ascent in human development.

[ 31 ] Indeed, we must move forward from this monism; we must never, ever revert to what this monism has overcome in terms of old worldviews. That is why I wrote the following words at the time: “Even if, in some places”—please take note of this—“to which he leads us”—namely, Haeckel—“we do not wish to pass right by him”—no one in whose soul anthroposophy is taking root can do that—“he nevertheless points the way we wish to take. He has received the helm from the hands of Lyell and Darwin; they could not have given it to anyone better. And our community is sailing swiftly forward... .” Yes, may it absorb the rigorous scientific spirit that true natural science has brought forth and advance rapidly into those depths of world existence that lie in the supersensible and yet can only be fathomed through supersensible research!