The Rudolf Steiner Archive

2. Human and Animal Organization

[ 1 ] Ladies and gentlemen! As I begin this lecture, I ask you to bear in mind that, until last night, I had assumed that I would be hearing this lecture today from Dr. Kolisko, and not delivering it myself. It was therefore not possible, in such a short time, to organize what I am about to say in any way, and I can only hope to cover, in general terms and in the details, roughly what Dr. Kolisko intended to say to you today.

[ 2 ] When discussing the relationship between the animal world and the human world from an anthroposophical perspective, it is particularly important to note how current anthroposophical ideas are, historically speaking, connected to what emerges from Goethe’s worldview—as I have already mentioned twice here. And for the topic at hand, one of Goethe’s very earliest achievements in the field of natural science is particularly relevant: namely, his treatise titled “Both Humans and Animals Possess an Intermediate Jawbone in the Upper Jaw.” One must now consider all the circumstances that led Goethe to write this treatise, based on his in-depth anatomical and physiological studies, as well as on the preliminary embryological studies he had undertaken.

[ 3 ] At a time when Goethe—first as a young student and later as a friend of the Jena university institutes, which were, in a certain sense, dependent on him—was deeply immersed in the problems he had been confronted with through all of this, and specifically in the question of what the fundamental difference between humans and animals was, he saw all around him how people were striving to find something in the structure—in the morphology—of humans and animals that would point to a strict distinction between humans, who are supposed to be, so to speak, the crown of creation, and the animal world. And based on the fact that the so-called intermaxillary bone—which in animals is otherwise clearly separated from the other jawbones—is not found as a separate bone in humans, people believed that this very feature, specifically in the structure of the head, revealed such a fundamental difference between humans and animals. Goethe did not accept this. He was of the opinion that, since humans and animals are analogously structured in terms of their entire organization, no differentiation should be evident in such a detail. And since the intermaxillary bone in adult humans is indeed fused with the other jaw bones, Goethe sought to demonstrate that this is merely the result of subsequent fusion, and that humans, in their embryonic stage, also possess the upper intermaxillary bone, just as animals do.

[ 4 ] One need only observe the enthusiasm with which Goethe points out that he has succeeded in demonstrating how humans actually share the intermaxillary bone with animals, in order to show, broadly speaking, that no such radical difference between the two can be found in the structure or morphology of humans and animals when examined in detail. Thus, for Goethe—and indeed for anthroposophy—there can be no question of distinguishing humans from animals in the way that was prevalent throughout the 18th century. What Goethe himself posited is this: As the animal organism ascends to the human, the individual organ forms already present in the animal are transformed and then, through this transformation, are, so to speak, enabled to make room for what can reveal itself from within the human being—from the whole human being—within the thus-transformed animal organism. Goethe conceived only of a metamorphosis of the animal organism into the human, not of an independently differentiated human morphology.

[ 5 ] This, I would like to say, must be taken as a given, even when seeking the distinction between the animal and human organisms from an anthroposophical perspective. If the organization itself, in its forms, is based solely on a metamorphosis of the animal and the human, then—if one wishes to explore this differentiation—one must first and foremost observe how life unfolds in humans and how it unfolds in animals; one must, so to speak, observe how the functioning of the organs takes shape from within the human being, and how the functioning of the organs takes shape from within the animal. In short, one must seek the difference more in the biological than in the morphological realm.

[ 6 ] Now, from a certain perspective, one can particularly pave the way for the notion of a biological difference by starting from what must appear to be the foundation of animal functioning, and that is, in both humans and animals, what is connected to the sense organs. The sense organs—or rather, the functions of the sense organs—are, after all, present to a greater or lesser extent in everything that takes place within the animal and human organism. Even in lower animals, we must assume that a certain functioning of primitive senses takes place during simple nutritional processes—in the purely metabolic processes—so that, for example, taste experiences run parallel to what is, more or less purely chemically, metabolism. These processes become increasingly differentiated the higher one moves up the animal kingdom, all the way to humans. But if we approach animal organization with an open mind, we will find absolutely nothing in which a sensory life is not present. Certainly, one might ask: What, after all, does this sensory life have to do, for example, with lymph formation or blood formation, and so on?

[ 7 ] Today, even in scientific circles not influenced by anthroposophy, people have come to speak of subconscious processes of the human psyche; and therefore—even if, due to time constraints, I can only touch on this briefly—it will not seem entirely unfounded when I say: What takes place in the mouth and on the palate as the taste experience—what arises as the taste experience under the influence and action, for example, of ptyalin, pepsin, and so on—how could that not also play a role in the unconscious? Why should not—I say this as a kind of postulate—the taste experience continue throughout the entire organism, and why should not taste experiences run parallel, unconsciously, to lymph and blood formation and all organ processes? We will therefore be able to trace the human and animal organisms from their biological perspective very well once we consider sensory life.

[ 8 ] This sensory life—as I have been hinting to some of you for years, and as is in part already a matter of external science—does not take place solely through the five senses commonly cited, but through a clearly distinguishable set of twelve human senses. Here, however, one must speak only of human beings. For anyone willing to recognize that it is just as valid to speak of twelve senses as of five or six—of sight, hearing, smell, taste, sensation, or touch—it is legitimate to say that we have, for example, a sense of balance that allows us to recognize internally whether we are standing on both feet or just one, whether we are making one movement or another with our arms, and so on. As human beings, when we place ourselves in the world, we are in a state of equilibrium. We therefore perceive this state of equilibrium sensually—albeit much more subtly—just as we sensually perceive what takes place in the process of seeing; so that we can speak of a sense of balance just as we can speak of a sense of sight. We need only be clear about this: When we speak of this sense of balance, we are turning more toward our own organization; we are, so to speak, looking inward while looking outward with our eyes. But this experience of the sense of balance is certainly based on a sensory function.

[ 9 ] Similarly, we can expand the number of senses in another direction. When we merely hear, the functioning of the human organism is something fundamentally different than when we hear directly through the ear but then respond to what becomes perceptible to us indirectly through language. When we follow the words and sentences of another person with inner understanding, we are not merely engaged in judgment; rather, the process of judgment is also preceded by a process of perception, a sensory process. Thus, we must speak of having a sense of language—or, more precisely, a sense of language, a sense of words—just as we have a sense of hearing. In other words: If we consider words from a more anatomical and physiological perspective, we must assume the existence of a specific [sensory] system within the human organism that corresponds to the act of listening to spoken language just as the auditory system corresponds to the act of hearing inarticulated sounds. And we must assume the existence of a specific system for the sense of language that is quite similar to other sensory systems, such as the visual or auditory systems.

[ 10 ] Even when we approach our work with an open mind, we must not say: We come to recognize that another human being is standing before us when we see that this external spatial form has something like a nose, like two eyes, and so on, and then conclude by analogy that a human being is inside it, because we see that within ourselves there is a human being who reveals himself externally through a nose, eyes, and so on. Such an unconscious conclusion does not in reality underlie this process, but rather an immediate engagement with the other person, which must correspond to something specific in the human constitution—something that can only be paralleled with a sensory constitution—so that we can also speak of a “sense of self.” If we examine the functioning of the human being in this way, entirely without prejudice, we must speak—with the same justification with which we speak of an auditory, gustatory, and so on, organization—of a perceptual organization for words, of a perceptual organization for thoughts, of a perceptual organization for the “I”—not for one’s own “I,” for that is based on something entirely different. And we must also speak of a “sense of movement,” for whether we are moving or at rest is something entirely different. Likewise, we must then speak of a “sense of life”—conventional science already speaks of this to some extent.

[ 11 ] If we determine the number of sensory systems in this way, we arrive at twelve human senses. Of these, however, a number are inner senses; for we also perceive our inner organism—how we feel and how we are doing in terms of our sense of balance, our sense of movement, and so on. But qualitatively, the experience of perceiving our inner organization is entirely the same as that of seeing, hearing, or tasting. It is simply a matter of seeing things in their proper context.

[ 12 ] If one proceeds in this way from the premise of a complete physiology of the senses with regard to human beings, certain biological phenomena take on a very special significance [become apparent], on the one hand in the realm of humans and, on the other hand, in the realm of animals, a significance that can persist even if one fully accepts everything that has been put forward by modern natural scientists—even by Haeckel—regarding the morphological and physiological connection between the human and animal organisms. Here, however, the most absurd misunderstandings prevail. For example, it is believed that anthroposophy must oppose Haeckelism simply because it rises from the mere observation of sensory perceptions to the empirical observation of the spiritual; it is believed that anthroposophy must, on this basis, alter something in Haeckelism. No! — Whatever needs to be changed in Haeckelism must be changed on the basis of scientific methodology; anthroposophy has no need to weigh in on this, and as a natural scientist, one can discuss these matters with Haeckel.

[ 13 ] What anthroposophy has to say lies in an entirely different realm. It can rightly be emphasized that if one counts the bones of higher animals, the number of bones does not differ from that of humans. And the same is true of the muscles. Thus, we do not arrive at a differentiation between human and animal organization. But when we take a biological approach, we arrive at a genuine distinction. We then come to place special emphasis on the fact that, in essence, the human organism relates to the cosmos in a different way than the animal organism does. When we consider higher animals in particular, we must say: A key feature of theirs is that the axis of their spine runs parallel to the Earth’s surface, whereas, in contrast, in humans, over the course of their lives, the horizontal position of the spinal axis transforms into a vertical one, so that an important life function in humans consists in standing upright. — I know, of course, that one might object: But there are also animals with a more or less upright, vertical spinal axis. — However, what matters is not how it appears in terms of external morphology, but how the entire organism is constituted. We will also see how, in certain animals—bird species or even mammal species—in which the spinal axis can be brought into a more or less vertical position, a kind of degeneration occurs precisely in contrast to their overall constitutional disposition, whereas in humans it is already inherent in their constitution that the spinal axis has a vertical position.

[ 14 ] When I said this once many years ago during a lecture in Munich, a man with a background in the natural sciences—whom I could, of course, understand quite well—came up to me and said: “But when we sleep, isn’t the spinal axis horizontal as well?” — “But that is not the point,” I told him, “rather, it is a matter of how the spinal axis is positioned within the overall cosmic context of the human being in relation to the position of, say, the leg or foot bones in relation to the rest of the body, and how this affects humans or animals. Although a person’s spine is horizontal while sleeping, this horizontal position is external; internally, from a dynamic perspective, the human being is organized in such a way that he can bring himself into a state of equilibrium where the spinal axis is vertical. And when animals bring themselves into such a state of equilibrium, they degenerate in a certain respect, or they manage to develop certain human-like functions and thereby also prove what I now intend to explain.

[ 15 ] We can say that by shaping his spinal axis vertically—purely functionally, out of the overall dynamics of his being—during the early years of his life, a human being places himself in a different state of equilibrium within the cosmos than an animal. But every being is, after all, formed out of the cosmos as a whole; one could also say that it adapts to it—I do not wish to go into that further now. If we trace the structure of the individual bones—for example, the ribs or the skull bones, and so on—then we will also gain the morphological insight to recognize, in the shapes of the ribs or skull bones of a human or a dog, the adaptation to the vertical or horizontal position of the spine. By assuming a vertical posture, the human being lives in a completely different state of equilibrium compared to the animal, which stands on its four legs; the human lives in a completely different cosmic context.

[ 16 ] Now let us try to approach the problem from a different angle and clarify what actually takes place within a human being during the sensory process, and what occurs in connection with that process. Due to time constraints, I will be limited to speaking in general terms, but this could also be expressed in very precise biological and physiological terminology.

[ 17 ] Let’s take the process of seeing. We can divide it into what is the specific function of the organ of sight, and into what then takes place as it extends further into the physical realm—I would say, by analogy to the fact that the optic nerve emanates from the eye and then disappears into the inner workings of the nervous system. We can thus distinguish between, on the one hand, the process of seeing itself, and, on the other, everything that follows from it in the overall experience. In the immediately present process of seeing, the imaginative element is still immanent; when we look at something, we do not yet separate the imaginative element from the process of seeing. When we turn our eyes away from what we are looking at, we retain a residual image that clearly reveals its connection to what was perceived during the act of seeing. Anyone who can analyze this correctly will see how different the residual image resulting from the act of seeing is from that resulting from the act of hearing. We thus have within us the experience of the act of seeing—I would say, in a dualistic way: first, more directed toward what is the actual sensory perception, and then directed toward what remains to us as a mental residue, as a more or less elaborated memory.

[ 18 ] Now consider everything in the human being that belongs to the inner realm of imagination and is based on the five senses. Most of what occurs in human soul life is based on the processes of vision; only about one-ninth of what is conveyed through the processes of vision is conveyed through the processes of hearing. And when we consider the inner life of the soul, even less is conveyed through it than through the processes of seeing and hearing, and so on. We know that the imaginative, which leads to lasting memory, also plays a role here, but a significantly smaller one than in the processes of seeing and hearing.

[ 19 ] Now we can raise the question: Does this duality—as we find it in the sense of sight, in terms of perception and imagination—also exist for the more hidden senses, such as the sense of balance or the sense of movement? In a truly unbiased approach to physiology and psychology, this also exists, for example, for the sense of balance; it’s just that the connection is usually not noticed. In the lecture I just gave, I spoke about mathematics, about orienting oneself in spatial relationships, where mathematics is applied geometrically. We construct spatial relationships for ourselves. What, exactly, are we doing here? With regard to the whole human being, it is exactly the same as what we do when, in the act of seeing, we clearly separate perception from the realm of imagination by keeping the image inwardly. [We do not merely perceive a color externally], but we experience the qualitative nature of the color, the hue, and the feeling—the sensation I have when encountering a warm or cool color—continues to live on within me.

[ 20 ] We can now say the following to ourselves: I want to take a comprehensive look within my soul at all the perceptions I have gained in life through the fact that I can see with my eyes. We would obtain an inner visual system within the soul. Even without external visual processes taking place at the moment, we would experience an inner ascent—a kind of reconstruction of the visual processes. And if you consider this in the same way with regard to the sense of balance, you will realize that through everything you experience via the sense of balance within your own organism, something arises within you that [corresponds] to the geometric in the external world. ^{1The following remarks were recorded only fragmentarily by the stenographer. The necessary additions made by the editor—indicated by square brackets—are based essentially on the following lectures by Rudolf Steiner: March 16, 1921, in GA 324; September 29, October 1 and 3, 1920, in GA 322.} We have not derived mathematics or mechanics [from external experience]. Mathematical and mechanical [laws] are derived through inner [construction]. When you bring mechanical [laws] to mind, you have [derived] them through the imaginative aspect of your sense of balance. The whole human being becomes a sensory organ in this process and thereby forms, as it were, the other pole [to what is perceived] [internally]. We develop mathematics, for example, and believe that in it we have a pure a priori science. But mathematics is not a pure a priori science. We simply do not realize that what we experience through our sense of balance is transformed into [mathematical-geometric concepts] just as visual perception is transformed into visual concepts. Without our noticing the bridge, what is perceived through the sense of balance becomes mathematics or mechanics.

[ 21 ] If you consider this, you will understand the intimate connection between the entire human organism and its state of balance within the cosmos. Then you will say to yourself: In an animal that stands on its four legs and whose sense of balance is determined by its position in space, the experience of balance must be reflected internally in a completely different way than it is in humans through mathematics. We find mathematics simply as a result of our place within the cosmos.

[ 22 ] We speak of three dimensions because we are situated within the cosmos in three dimensions. But we have only acquired the vertical dimension ourselves in the course of our lives. We have only just positioned ourselves within the vertical dimension. What we experience in early childhood is later reflected in mathematics; it just doesn’t happen as quickly as with the process of seeing. The reflection of the experience of balance takes place over the course of our lives. In childhood, we have a very strong experience of our sense of balance as we transition from crawling to walking and standing. This is reflected in later life and becomes visible as mathematics and mechanics. We often regard mathematics as something we have concocted on our own. It is not. It arises from the perception of our own organism. Why is it, then, that certain thoughts in human beings are such that they can relate them to the cosmos, that they can form an entire structure of thought from these thoughts? This is simply the result of how the human being is situated within the cosmos. And if we now compare the state of equilibrium in which the animal finds itself [in its relationship to the cosmos] with the state of equilibrium of the human being, we can say: In the animal, we see a binding to the earthly organization, and in the human being, we see an upright posture, a lifting out of the earthly organization. What we express as independent thoughts stems from the fact that we also achieve an independent state of equilibrium for our human constitution.

[ 23 ] Thus, the act of positioning oneself within the cosmos is not something that arises from the organism itself—and is also found in animals—but rather something that takes shape within the human organism itself and is only attained in the course of the [first] years of life, extending even into the organs. This brings us to that polarity of the human being [in contrast to the animal], in which, on the one hand, the human being stands upright and walks upright, and in which everything that does not differ in detail between humans and animals is now adapted to this entire cosmic position in which the human being lives. And on the other hand, that which now transcends what is perceived by the senses—what is perceived with the five senses—and detaches itself from it appears in the soul as thought. Just as human beings, through their relationship to the cosmos, detach themselves from the earth, so too do human thoughts detach themselves from their bondage to the sensory world; in a certain sense, they become free.

[ 24 ] We must—and for anthroposophy this is, again, a certainty, though here I would like to present it initially more as a postulate—we must see in the fact that human beings possess this state of equilibrium, which is conditioned by the upright position of their spinal axis, something that distinguishes humans from animals; and on the other hand, we must regard the particular form of the world of imagination, of thought, as what is specifically human. But precisely those who perceive such things from an anthroposophical standpoint—this may come up more or less later—see how human beings, through the special development of their sense of balance and their sense of movement, also arrive at a freer system of thought than is is the case [in experiences through] the eyes and ears—and that person will also realize that human beings must therefore possess an inner organization to support this. Human beings simply possess an internal organization that is not yet found in animals—this can certainly be proven scientifically at some point—which serves precisely that form of thought that has broken free from [its attachment to the earth], as is the case with animals, and which is conditioned by the unique posture of the human being. We can therefore say: By standing upright, human beings create an organ for abstract thought.

[ 25 ] And so, in humans, we find an organization determined by their upright posture, which at first glance reveals nothing more than that the organs—which are also present in animals—are positioned differently; but this upright posture causes a change in the nervous and circulatory systems such that, under the influence of this different state of equilibrium, something occurs in humans that animals cannot possess. There we find what biologically distinguishes humans from animals. We truly find this connection in the physical organization of human beings and not in mere dynamism. This is of fundamental importance. Just imagine for a moment the transformation of the organism that occurs through the shift from the animal’s position of equilibrium to that of human beings—what changes, for example, with regard to the upper and lower legs, the hands, and so on. [Just imagine what it means] that humans are bipeds and not quadrupeds. Although humans are endowed with the same physical forms as animals, they possess them in a different orientation and thus in altered, metamorphosed forms. This will one day be proven anatomically as well, once the necessary tools and experimental methods have been developed. We are searching for such tools and experimental methods at our institutes in Stuttgart. However, in order to discover these methods empirically, one must first have arrived at an understanding of [where the differences lie] through imaginative observation. Therefore, anthroposophy is by no means useless to science with regard to [the exploration] of the finer realms of human, animal, and plant forms, for science cannot discover these things through imagination. But once they have been discovered, they can also be verified [by science].

[ 26 ] If one observes how a different state of equilibrium reshapes the organs, one also finds that certain organs are transformed in such a way that they become the human speech organ, and that the organism acquires the capacity to create language.

[ 27 ] You have now gained insight into the unique organization of human beings, which arises simply from the fact that they are upright beings—a fact that has consequences even at the material level. You have also provided insights regarding the physiological structure of speech—even where no external morphological difference between humans and animals can be identified—which nonetheless reveals a biological distinction between humans and animals.

[ 28 ] These are a few suggestions that may point the way toward how what is sought in an external, layman’s manner can also be investigated through a truly scientific approach. I have been able to outline only what I wanted to say here. But if you continue to develop [these ideas], a path does indeed emerge for science to [explore] the differences between animal and human organization from a biological perspective.