The Rudolf Steiner Archive

6. The Current State of Philosophy and Science

[ 1 ] If I wish to attempt today to outline the current state of philosophy and science with a few sketchy strokes, it is because, within the broadest sphere of views on Spiritual Science, there is not always clarity regarding how one, as an anthroposophist, can establish a proper relationship to the spiritual and scientific endeavors that otherwise exist in the present. I have on a few occasions incorporated philosophical elements into my courses on Spiritual Science, drawing on specific fields. In particular, I have spoken about Hegel’s philosophy and its connection to the present. Today I would like to expand on the topic somewhat and speak in general terms about the current state of philosophy and science. Since I have announced this topic to you and the participants in my courses are already familiar with the nature of such philosophical interludes, you will not be surprised if I state from the outset that I will not impose any particular constraints on myself with regard to accessibility. I wish rather to evoke a sense of how, as a strictly scientific person, one can discern the connections between Spiritual Science and other spiritual endeavors of the present day. That, after all, there is not much awareness of this in the field of theosophical literature—which must be stated in a lecture such as today’s—is hardly surprising. As a rule, theosophical writers are not actually philosophers and are completely unaware of the difficulties that arise for the philosopher when he seeks to approach the field of Spiritual Science with his fundamentally scientific mindset. |

[ 2 ] Of course, I can only highlight individual points, but I want to do so in such a way that, by the time I have finished, you will have a sense of how the relationship I have alluded to might be understood. First, I would like to say that it can make a certain impression on a receptive soul from the very beginning when, in the field of Spiritual Science, one speaks of supersensible knowledge and of the ascent of clairvoyant research toward supersensible knowledge. However, for those who believe they must approach these matters from the standpoint of contemporary philosophy, the thought can and must immediately occur to them—if such a topic is discussed at all— the thought must immediately occur that the objections philosophy raises against various aspects of what it calls direct experience or direct perception must apply in the same way to everything we produce, so to speak, in the field of Spiritual Science. As long as we, for example, clothe our clairvoyant experiences in such words that, when we speak—perhaps you do not even notice it—we make use of spatial or temporal mental images; as soon as it can be demonstrated to us that we do this; as soon as we are unable to formulate our terminology in such a way that we do not covertly introduce mental images of space and time into our statements at the relevant points, as long as that is the case, a Kantian or any other contemporary epistemologist can always come along and object—either in the traditional form or in the various forms these theories have taken in more recent times—that it is epistemologically established that space and time themselves are mere categories or forms of our mental images. Even if we were to clothe our intuitive findings in forms derived from time and space, we would nevertheless, by that very act, be offering something that is bound to our capacity for conception. So, in essence—I know that the expression here is open to criticism—we would then be expressing only something subjective with all our intuitive findings. This is a possible objection that can always be raised. I mention it as an example of numerous other objections that can rightly be formulated on the basis of epistemological premises.

[ 3 ] If we, as scholars of Spiritual Science, can properly raise such objections ourselves, only then have we truly earned the full inner right to make certain assertions. This does not mean that we should not, out of our inner sense of truth, engage with certain messages. We should do so, for the inner sense of truth can guide us in the right way. But we will only be prepared to face the spiritual movement of the present when we raise such objections ourselves and—at least within our own work—are able to overcome them.

[ 4 ] We must distinguish between two kinds of objections. Certainly, objections to the Spiritual Science will come pouring in from all sides. If we are able to recognize and discern for ourselves what is coming at us, and yet are simply not heard when we speak out, then the fault lies with others, and we can wait—as we must—until people have matured enough to understand our arguments. But if our positions come across as amateurish in the face of contemporary spiritual movements, then the fault lies with us if we cannot consolidate our body of teaching in an appropriate manner. To do this, we must be able to distinguish between what is our own fault—and in many, many areas it is solely our fault; it lies in theosophical literature, and in the ease with which some believe they should be able to find their way into the field of Spiritual Science— we must therefore distinguish between what is our fault and what we can calmly wait out, because we can tell ourselves exactly what the spiritual movements of the present have to object to from their point of view. But if we want to do something like this, then we must, above all, be clear to ourselves as to where the actual inadequacy of the spiritual movements of the present lies. We must be able to ask ourselves to some extent how these contemporary spiritual movements have developed.

[ 5 ] You know from my lectures that I do not like to parade my opinions in public. The opinions of a single individual are, after all, of little value. I always strive, even in the field of Spiritual Science, to let the facts speak for themselves. That is why I do not wish to present theories rooted in opinions today, but rather to let the facts speak for themselves. I would like to present a fact that illustrates how, over the course of the 19th century, intellectual inadequacy developed—an inability to penetrate in a certain deeper way into what thought can indeed offer, provided it draws conclusions that are sufficiently incisive, truly sharp, and truly derived from its premises. Theosophy often proves feeble in the face of the objections raised against it because its intellectual weapons have become blunt.

[ 6 ] If we speak solely in terms of the intellectual—I am aware of every possible objection that could be raised against what has just been said, but the matter will present itself in this way to anyone who delves into the intellectual development of the 19th century— —if we start from the purely intellectual realm, then we must say that, in terms of the sharpness of thought and the crystallization of thought in the soul, a certain pinnacle of philosophical development was indeed reached by Hegel. One misunderstands Hegel when one speaks of him so flippantly, as his opponents did in the second half of the 19th century. They formed the mental image that Hegel sought to spin everything he had to say about the world out of pure thought alone. But they failed to take into account that Hegel nowhere claims that the human subject seeks to extract anything of real worldly content from pure thought. One must bear in mind: Hegel takes the firm position that thought itself—the inwardly living thought, the active and productive thought—is what draws the content of the world out of itself, and that we, as the subject of cognition, are nothing other than the stage upon which thought operates. If we take the matter as it actually presents itself in the course of spiritual life, we must say: Hegel’s entire monumental greatness lies in this tendency. But also: the entire weakness of Hegelian philosophy lies therein. The greatness lies in the fact that, for anyone who truly wishes to penetrate his thought, Hegel can become, in a previously almost unimaginable way, the teacher of a discipline of thought that we cannot acquire by any other means. Theosophists, in particular, should make this rigorous discipline of thought their own. After all, a vast number of errors and false beliefs arise simply because our thinking cannot attain the crystalline clarity of a discipline of thought, as one can learn it through the Hegelian system. One can educate oneself through the Hegelian system. In every lecture, so to speak, where one feels a responsibility toward knowledge and truth, one should be imbued with the results of such intellectual discipline. One should get into the habit of never using a word at any point that has not first been fully grasped and experienced by us in all its scope and content. If, by delving deeply into what seems to many so abstract, so dry, and so sober—by delving deeply into Hegelian logic—one instills this discipline of thought within oneself, then one comes to never speak of the word “Being,” “becoming,” or “existence”—in those very places where, within the overall structure of the lecture, these words may be inserted, because one has first traced the entire development of the content of such concepts, from the simplest, most empty concepts to the most substantial ones. In essence, today’s philosophical lecturers and all of contemporary literature are also incredibly far removed from this inner discipline of thought. I could easily demonstrate to you that in world-famous contemporary philosophical books, the authors are not even capable of concisely and accurately capturing the meaning of a concept over the course of three lines, and that after just three lines, they reuse a concept they had previously employed in an entirely different way. It seems quite natural, then, that an internal confusion must arise within the entire structure that our thoughts represent. As I said, it would be easy to demonstrate this to you using world-famous contemporary philosophical books.

[ 7 ] Now, Hegel’s opponents believed they could easily refute him because they did not understand this weaving and essence of thought within the realm of our knowing subject, but rather because they believed—something that never occurred to Hegel— he wanted to spin the content of the world, so to speak, out of the immediate content of thought of the subject of cognition. One need only be clear that this cannot be the case—that one can never spin any substantial content of knowledge out of the respective subject of cognition, provided it remains solely within concepts. Therefore, with regard to the productive progress of spiritual life—and this is its weakness—Hegelian philosophy had to remain unproductive for this very reason: because its fundamental idea—that it is thought itself that works itself out—may be correct, but it does not follow from this that the subject of knowledge itself must produce the objective content of the world. How is it even possible for the subject of knowledge to derive the content of knowledge from within itself? This is possible only if the subject of knowledge enriches itself, making itself capable of producing the content of knowledge. But this self-empowerment can never take place on the level of mere thinking. Through mere thinking, one gains a kind of overview, a kind of broader retrospective view of what the human spirit has produced in the course of world history. One can survey the thoughts that have been produced from a certain vantage point. But one cannot gain new content of knowledge. Hegel’s opponents sensed this. Yet their opposition was based entirely on false premises. It is on this basis, however, that two things are achieved through mere Hegelianism: an almost immeasurably magnificent discipline of thought; yet productive content of knowledge cannot be attained. In other words: Hegelian philosophy cannot continue to have a productive effect through itself alone. This is where the productive powers of knowledge must come into play, where even Hegel’s subject of knowledge—raised to the heights of thought—must resolve to allow the influx of what you will find described, for example, as the fertilizing agent of the subject of knowledge in my book How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?

[ 8 ] I would like to say this: If one starts from immediately perceptible existence and from the processing that the human intellect carries out on it, one reaches that level which can be described as the life and activity of the knowing subject in the realm of the plane of thought. But then further progress is possible only if, from the other side—the side opposed to sensually perceptible existence—there comes enrichment through those means described in this book, How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds?. In the literature in which I have sought to point toward these things step by step—prepared, as it were, by my earlier writings and summarized most recently in my Philosophy of Freedom—you will find a path that can be taken from external sensory perception, from the external processing of the material of existence, all the way up to the realm of thought. There you will also find characterized the distinctive features of both the realm of thought and the significance of pure thought for the knowing subject. In the following writings, which lie within the proper realm of the Spiritual Sciences, you will find the other side of the world characterized with its forces that enrich knowledge. You will find the clairvoyant research characterized epistemologically, along with the scope of clairvoyant research, which thus flows in, as it were, from the other side.

[ 9 ] If we were to sketch this out, we could say: When we characterize the plane of thought along with the subject of cognition on this plane, everything that can be gained through the senses—all the external, sensually perceptible material of existence—flows in from the side of sensory perception. Within the plane of thought, we sense the Hegelian Self at work—what is called the dialectic of pure thought. But then, if we take only this path, we must come to a standstill. We must wait until we are in a position to allow that which we can receive along the path described in my book How Does One Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds? to flow into us from the other side. So you see that these things come together, and that the Hegelian system was, for a certain period, a wonderful synthesis of the human spirit; but once this was established, it was entirely appropriate that what the Hegelian system cannot rise to should eventually come to pass. The plan is firmly established regarding where the subject of knowledge must stand; it cannot be elevated, but can only be described from the other side using what can likewise be established epistemologically. Thus, we do not remain one-sided, but rather acquire the ability to understand the strict epistemological method even where mere sensibility is left behind.

[ 10 ] When we consider all of this, we may ask: How is it that philosophy itself seems so reluctant to engage with those logical forms through which what comes from the other side can be established just as surely as what comes from this side can be established epistemologically? — This stems from the fact that this philosophy of the 19th century—and continuing into the 20th century up to the present—has failed to take the step that should have been taken based on a correct understanding of Hegelianism. And so it is that this philosophy of the 19th and 20th centuries has been unable to connect with what lies beyond the realm of thought. However, the deeper reason lies in the fact that Hegelian philosophy has been little understood by the philosophy that has continued to develop. For when one rises to the plane of pure thought, it is quite inevitable—because one stands at the threshold of the supersensible world—that one can also sense those logical justifications which, as something legitimate, reveal the inflow of the supersensible world. You can truly sense this when, in the lectures of our dear Dr. Unger—which cannot be praised highly enough—you encounter this elevation of human cognitive power to pure thought and then the shining in of the higher worlds. Therefore, it must be emphasized: It is a great blessing that we are in a position to have among us a figure such as Dr. Unger, who, in this spiritual-philosophical field, is able to work out and elaborate in detail the theory of knowledge concerning the pure thought of the knowing subject—which exists as the “I” on the plane of thought. And so, in these very lectures, you have provided precisely what can serve as a guide to help you gain firmness in navigating the relationship between Spiritual Science and other spiritual pursuits.

[ 11 ] If you follow this philosophy—which has already been developed in part through Dr. Unger’s remarks and will be further developed—and if you continue along the path you have taken, then you will see that this philosophy, as a philosophy, will have a character entirely different from what exists today as contemporary philosophy. A truly not insignificant thinker recently said something about the latter that, in essence, cannot be disputed. If one lets one’s gaze wander impartially over what is being brought to light in Germany and other countries, one sees that what this thinker said is indeed true, namely: today we have a metaphysics without transcendental conviction, an epistemology without objective meaning, a logic without content, a psychology without a soul, an ethics without binding force, and a religion without a rational foundation. — This is a characterization of our time drawn from the immediate perception of a contemporary philosopher of no small stature. As I said, I would like to let the facts speak for themselves—to let what is happening speak for itself. Whether it must be said that he has no desire to embark on the path of Spiritual Science, or whether, according to his own lines of thought, he is unable to do so, may be left open—but it must be said that this is how someone might think who is fully immersed in the contemporary maelstrom but who, from within the realm of thought itself, cannot find a way out to a supersensory content. Certain intellectual prerequisites must be fulfilled here, prerequisites that are actually found today in no other philosophy than in what I attempted to establish in my book on “Truth and Science,” in what is presented in The Philosophy of Freedom, and in the carefully elaborated thought processes of Dr. Unger. Here, from the field of Spiritual Science, lies the foundation for an active philosophy that avoids mixing theosophy into its arguments at every turn, a philosophy that aims to be strictly philosophical and that, precisely through this rigorous scientific approach, will fulfill its mission well into the future.

[ 12 ] But let us ask ourselves: Why is it that, after believing it had done away with Hegelianism, 19th-century thought in all cultured countries was unable to rise to such a philosophical elaboration of the intellectual aspect within our subject of cognition—why is that? It is not my task to go into the deep cultural-historical reasons—though I do so in some places—but today I would like to remain within the realm of purely philosophical characterization. This is because certain facts have come to pass; anyone who closely follows the course of intellectual life in the 1850s, 1860s, 1870s, and 1880s cannot fail to notice how, fundamentally speaking, thinking itself has remained strong in only a single area of 19th-century intellectual development, while everywhere else it has become too dull to draw the consequences inherent within it. In only one single field does the science of the 19th century and the early 20th century command the highest respect even from the rigorous thinking of the spiritual researcher, and this is none other than mathematics. Everything that has been accomplished within the scope of mathematics bears the marks of sharp, penetrating thought. This is why even those who, for example, pursued theoretical studies in the natural sciences—such as theoretical physics and chemistry—toward the end of the 19th century could feel so strongly that: it is not the mathematicians’ fault that we have been handed down these complicated formulas, which one had to work through when approaching, for example, the theory of heat, the theory of vibrations, Clausius’s theory, and so on. Once one had gone through that process and internalized it philosophically, one had the feeling: it is not the mathematicians’ fault—mathematics has become a wonderful instrument for working out everything in finely chiseled systems; but the intellectual weapons were blunt. So one could have this feeling when working with mathematical formulas in the various fields of physics and chemistry: as long as one remains purely within the realm of mathematics, one feels secure everywhere; but as soon as one comes to the philosophical characterization of what one is actually calculating, the ground becomes unstable everywhere. This is how it appeared from the minds of those who spoke philosophically at that time. There was nothing to be sensed there but the purest philosophical dilettantism, which became particularly evident when natural scientists began to philosophize, as, for example, Da Bois-Reymond did in his Seven World Mysteries or in his lecture On the Limits of Natural Knowledge. But this has not improved. We may therefore say: We have witnessed the peculiar phenomenon that thinking, as it must necessarily be demanded by Spiritual Science, has remained strong and precise only within mathematics. — The rigorous demands placed on thinking are not met today in any other field of research—the rigorous demands we make from the standpoint of Spiritual Science—except in the field of mathematics.

[ 13 ] Now, I do not wish to go into certain contributions here—or their characteristics—which, from a purely mathematical standpoint, can also be applied to the realm of knowledge. I merely wish to point out the symptomatic nature of these things, to emphasize that it is precisely in the field that has retained its marvelous inner strength—the field of mathematics—that it has become most clearly evident how nineteenth-century thought has, through its own development, matured to the point of shattering the shell that isolates the human subject of knowledge from the supersensible world. And even if these are merely hypotheses—sometimes boldly asserted—that have been pursued purely through calculation, we must nevertheless regard what has taken place in the field of mathematics as an expression of the human spirit’s longing to transcend the sensory world. And it is precisely in the realm of mathematics that we have seen this longing come to fruition. After all, mathematics in its forms—what we call geometry—has, ever since the time of Euclid, regarded certain things as unshakable! Who, for example, could have believed that there is anything more unshakable than the theorem: “The three angles of a triangle equal 180 degrees”—or the other theorem: If you have a straight line here and a point next to it, then, in the sense of Euclidean geometry, you can draw only a single parallel line to that straight line through that point. — That is to say, in the sense of Euclidean geometry, the sum of the angles of a triangle equals 180 degrees, and in that sense, one can draw only a single parallel line to that straight line. This follows from the premises of Euclidean geometry. Who could possibly believe that it could be any other way! Nevertheless—and this is the significant point—as I said, I could raise many arguments for and against the content itself, but I am addressing only the symptomatic aspect, the longing: to break free from the realm of the senses; I merely wish to characterize—the peculiar thing is that in the 19th century we saw the emergence of geometries other than Euclidean geometry. Thus, the inner sharpness of thought—based on what is taken as the foundation for the intellectual chiseling out of geometric truths— it sought to crystallize from this thinking itself a geometry—or geometries—that apply to something other than our ordinary sensory space, for in that space, the three angles of a triangle must add up to 180 degrees, and through a point adjacent to a line, one can draw only one parallel. And in the 19th century, we were presented with geometries that do not merely apply to our sensory space—no. Riemannian and Lobachevskian geometry are two genuine geometries, born of human thought according to strict mathematical laws.

[ 14 ] According to Lobachevsky’s theory, the sum of the three angles of a triangle is always less than 180 degrees; according to Riemann’s theory, it is always greater than 180 degrees. According to the latter, you cannot draw a single straight line through a point that is parallel to any other straight line; according to the former, you can draw two such lines. And these things are not so easy to accept. For if the mathematician sets a certain constant equal to zero in certain formulas—through which one can express every specific ratio given in Lobachevsky’s theory—he obtains Euclidean geometry as a special case of Lobachevsky’s geometry. You can isolate Euclidean geometry from Lobachevsky’s geometry.

[ 15 ] I do not wish to point out that, based on the findings of clairvoyant research, the determinations do not correspond to either of the two geometries. They are merely proof that mental operations can extend beyond the realm that initially encompasses our space. But this much must be said: If one grasps the scope of these geometries, one can form a mental image of entirely different relationships between facts than those in the sensory world. For the latter is ultimately expressed in the formulas of geometry. If, then, different formulas than those of Euclidean geometry apply to a world, that world is a world other than our own. And we can say: Riemannian and Lobachevskian geometry embody the geometer’s longing to transcend the sensory world, to grasp intellectually something that lies entirely outside the realm of the sensory world. That is why these non-Euclidean geometries are symptomatically significant for our century.

[ 16 ] And no less significant is the fact that the Frenchman Poincaré analyzed these various theories in a highly insightful epistemological manner. However, if one confines oneself to merely utilizing these non-Euclidean postulates without wishing to venture into the realm of Spiritual Science, one arrives precisely at what Poincaré concluded: that in all our geometric statements we see nothing more than formulas that our cognitive faculties have devised to grasp the facts in the most convenient way possible. And Poincaré has worked this out very clearly. Germans, too, have the opportunity—thanks to the commendable translations of these books by the Munich mathematician Lindemann—to gain an understanding of the significance of what actually underlies the whole matter.

[ 17 ] Thus, we must say—if we can even hint at the fact that, in our time, the acuity of thought has indeed found its full expression in a particular field, and that this acuity of thought is sufficiently evident in such attempts—however dull and hypothetical they may rightly appear to the individual—that there is a thirst for knowledge that extends beyond the world immediately before us.

[ 18 ] It is generally useful to be familiar with at least the rigor that a person can acquire through mathematical training. For everything that is legitimately produced in the field of Spiritual Science must—insofar as a thoughtful element is involved—be imbued with this strictly disciplined way of thinking. This may be hidden behind the facts; but anyone who produces work in the field of Spiritual Science should be aware that this thinking should be present in the background. Otherwise, Spiritual Science will be something that can easily be trampled to death by those who live outside the spiritual realm. And we will not be able to claim in every instance that ill will is at work when we are not understood. For in the field of Spiritual Science, it must become increasingly evident that we impose on our own thinking the same demands that—one might say—the strictest mathematician imposes on himself. Because we have access to clairvoyant research, we will be protected from, so to speak, building mathematical structures on thin air. I say this because there are indeed many objections to be raised against the structures of Riemannian and Lobachevskian geometry. I merely wished to characterize the thirst for knowledge. However, I attempted to show in my Philosophy of Freedom that it would be useful to be familiar with mathematical structures. There is a chapter in it that I would like to call “On the Pleasure Value of Life.” Up until the moment I had written this chapter on the pleasure value of life, there was much talk in philosophical circles about the pleasure balance of life, and one would substitute the “world of facts” into a seemingly mathematical formula intended to yield the “pleasure balance” in such a way that, for my sake, one would sum all the pleasure of a life to an “a” and all the displeasure of the same life to a “b,” and call the difference, say, the “pleasure balance”—the surplus of pleasure over displeasure. When one expresses pleasure and pain in a formula in this way, one has chosen a difference—that which can be called the mathematical formula of subtraction. The essential point in that chapter is that I showed how it is impossible to summarize pleasure and pain in such a way that they are placed in a relationship of minuend and subtrahend. Whatever one derives from this will never correspond to actual experience. I have shown that the pleasure value can only be obtained by proceeding as follows: if one divides a by 5, the quotient c yields the pleasure value:

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[ 19 ] If you conscientiously investigate the facts of life, you will find this to be true everywhere. In order to be able to do what is expressed in an abstract way about a fact of life in this formula, one must have at least a basic understanding of what can be derived from mathematical structures.

[ 20 ] Consider the following question: How can the pleasure value—if the formula is as stated—become zero; in other words, how can complete weariness of life arise? — By no other fact than when the fraction has infinity as its denominator—in its \(b\). For when you form a quotient, you can only get zero if the denominator is infinity, as long as the numerator is even just \(1\). That is to say, this premise corresponds to the facts of life in a completely different way. The latter shows you—even if people indulge in illusions—a certain zest for life everywhere. It is present wherever life exists at all.

[ 21 ] Thus we see how useful it can be to apply arithmetic formulas correctly. If you apply the wrong formula for the difference, you can easily develop a certain excess of discontent and might say: “Discontent with life is a valid quantity.” There, too, you see how useful it is to be able to make rigorous mathematical logic, so to speak, your ideal.

[ 22 ] If we set mathematics aside and look at the various individual fields of philosophy, we must say: Everywhere—whether you look at the field of logic, even though it has once again been enriched by mathematics through the theory of probability—we find that self-contained thought is incapable of drawing its own conclusions. And in this connection, I would like to draw your attention to the most important fact in the development of our spiritual life throughout the 19th century—a fact in the realm of Spiritual Science that occurred with a certain significance in spiritual life around the middle of the 19th century.

[ 23 ] At that time, Julius Robert Mayer—and later, independently of him, Helmholtz—discovered what has since been called the theory of the mechanical equivalent of heat, or the so-called conservation of vital force. Now, shortly after that happened, Helmholtz built upon this theory of the conservation of vital force to develop another theory, which was then widely accepted and is still considered by many to be indisputable: namely, that in the interplay of vital forces in the universe, there are constantly taking place transformations of some other forms of energy—let us say, work performed by the vital forces that govern the universe, be they the forces of magnetism or electricity, or other purely mechanical forces—into heat. Now, according to the so-called Carnot’s theorem, it is never possible to completely carry out the process of converting force into heat while maintaining the same amount of force. It must be said: It is never possible to reconvert all heat back into active force. — Incidentally, if I were to describe this so-called second law of thermodynamics, I would have to give a few lectures on the subject. But today I merely wish to outline its nature. It is not essential that every single detail you might wish to learn about it be stated here. In the sense of the second law of mechanical thermodynamics—and in the sense of what Hermann Helmholtz derived from it in the 1850s—it follows that in all processes of our existence, ultimately, during the conversion of heat into energy, there must be a quantity of heat that can no longer be reconverted into another form of energy. Consequently, all our physical-mechanical processes must ultimately proceed in such a way that their forces are converted into heat. And since there is always a residual amount of heat, these processes must ultimately culminate in a state in which all other forms of force have been converted into heat—in other words, all living forces will ultimately be converted into heat. We would thus have arrived at what we might call the heat death of our Earth. Naturally, no other process could take place once everything has been converted into heat. Thus, physical thought up to the mid-19th century, so to speak, converges on this law, converges on the statement which—given the state of physical understanding at the time—was actually quite correct: it converges on the assertion of the heat death of our Earth. And the only consolation Helmholtz found was this: It is still a long way off, and no one need fear that the heat death will befall them so soon. And everything we can observe reveals this process to such a small degree that we can hope life will continue undisturbed for millions of years to come, without the Earth being overtaken by the heat death. — For those who pursue knowledge more thoroughly, this remains nothing more than a philistine consolation.

[ 24 ] However, I merely wanted to illustrate what I could have illustrated using numerous other examples: how, so to speak, the progression of scientific thought up to that point—the lecture in which Helmholtz presented his ideas was given around 1852—must have led to certain results.

[ 25 ] At that time (1856), a Hegelian—Karl Rosenkranz—opposed this lecture. He brought to bear every weapon he could muster from the arsenal of Hegelian philosophy. And anyone who knows Karl Rosenkranz—that devoted, indeed, deeply devoted Hegelian—a little better knows that he is not as easy to dismiss as people very often try to do. He brought out everything he could muster from the arsenal of the Hegelian school. So here we have the other current, namely the one that developed along the line of thought. This current ran in the direction I have sought to demonstrate. What physical thinking has achieved can be seen in Helmholtz; where philosophical thinking has arrived can be seen in Rosenkranz. There we see that important objections are raised against the mechanical theory of heat. Rosenkranz criticizes Helmholtz for thinking, in essence, only in terms of analogies. He argues that Helmholtz’s law must be abstracted from the processes that take place in a clock, a wind box, or other objects. It is true of the steam engine that some of the living forces we generate are lost to the environment and cannot be recovered. As long as we proceed from such processes—which, I might say, are surrounded on all sides by finite environments—it cannot be ruled out that the results we arrive at will be similar to those Helmholtz arrived at in his treatise on the mechanical theory of heat. Karl Rosenkranz then rightly points out that it by no means follows, as soon as we go beyond the immediate conditions on Earth, that there would be no possibility that the heat radiated into outer space might be lost in the same way as in the steam engine. Entirely different circumstances could be at play there. I cannot go into detail today about what Spiritual Science has to say when it comes to the theory of heat. It is only there that we find the solid ground I was able to describe to you in the lectures I have recently given on the biblical story of creation. The Hegelian remained unproductive because he could not find the path to this ground. Thus, heat remained for him nothing more than an internal tremor. Nevertheless, with the concepts that are simply given when one engages in the strictly disciplined thinking of so-called finite mechanics—which applies only to the immediate surroundings—with all its formulas, including the formulas

$$\frac{mv^2}{2}$$

[ 26 ] — all these formulas apply to our immediate circumstances —; using these concepts, he turns to absolute mechanics. In the development of his scientific system, Hegel progressed from so-called finite mechanics to absolute mechanics, which he applies to the motion of celestial bodies. There the formulas transform in such a way that one simply cannot apply the formulas derived from the steam engine—in the Helmholtzian sense of our ordinary thermal conditions—to the processes involving larger entities in space. But to even grasp such an idea—to recognize the possibility that one can ascend from finite mechanics to absolute mechanics—requires an internally self-directing logic, which was precisely what was lacking in nineteenth-century philosophy and also in Karl Rosenkranz. For running through all his objections is the ever-present, powerful suggestion—to which he, too, is succumbing—that stems from the overwhelming scientific mental images of the 19th century. These subdue much thought. — Truly self-directing thought is required if one is to penetrate these scientific views. I could easily demonstrate that even with regard to the law of the so-called conservation of matter, which plays such a major role, the truth can only be known if one understands the inner structure of thought. I could prove that this law, as it exists in physics today, is nothing other than a projection of one’s own laws of thought into space, whereby thought, moreover, operates with blunt instruments. Here we see what we recognize today in the field of Spiritual Science: that in higher realms, what is within us appears to us as objective—I do not even wish to speak of the conservation of energy—and that, in a broader sense, what I myself have just cited regarding the conservation of matter still holds true. Thus we see how, through the influence of scientific findings—in relation to which one ought to remain on purely factual ground—the human element of thought has proved to be dull in this field, because philosophy was unable to pierce the barrier formed not by scientific fact-finding, but by the interpretation of the facts that have been investigated. Spiritual Science stands firmly on the ground of scientific facts. I would consider it one of the greatest shortcomings of Spiritual Science if they were unwilling to go hand in hand with genuine scientific fact-finding. But the interpretation of the facts that have been investigated is another matter entirely. When natural scientists tell us what they have discovered in the laboratory regarding factual objects, we must gratefully accept their findings; in doing so, we are accepting the very statements of nature itself, and if we deny them, we are caught up in nonsense. If we do not submit to them, we demonstrate that we lack a sense of truth. But if we were also to accept the so-called monistic arguments and allow ourselves to be persuaded that these are facts, then we would be treating people’s opinions as facts. This happens, however, because people’s opinions have insidiously—I would say, though I do not wish to accuse anyone of being a fanatic—crept into popular literature. For twenty marks, we can obtain not only scientific facts as handed down to us, but also opinions that appear as if they were facts—opinions that are, so to speak, so strongly emphasized that if a person does not believe in them, he does not believe in the findings of science. One can, however, hold fast to the latter and still say that the explanations are nothing more than interpretations made with blunt intellectual weapons.

[ 27 ] Just as this way of thinking is blunt when applied to the simplest physical and chemical phenomena, so, naturally, it must prove all the more blunt when higher fields are considered, such as physiology. The days are long gone when a brilliant anatomist like the late Hyrtl could bring the human anatomical structure to life for his students in the early years of their medical studies. Today we are dealing with an institution that, above all, is completely unaware of one thing. To characterize this thing, I would like to present it in a slightly different light.

[ 28 ] In keeping with what I myself must regard as the Spiritual Science movement, it is my most urgent wish that those with a background in physiology and medicine familiarize themselves with the facts of Spiritual Science to such an extent that they can thoroughly examine the findings of physiology in terms of their factual nature. Next spring, I myself will be able to outline at most the basic principles of this Spiritual Science physiology. There is much work to be done. Our physiological literature contains the most wonderful material—one only needs to be familiar with it—but one must also be familiar with the borderline areas, and one must, in turn, understand how physiology is influenced by a true psychology, which today lies largely buried under the rubble. It would be a deep desire of spiritual research for those among us with a background in physiology to conduct a rigorously precise review of certain recent physiological and anatomical findings. Admittedly, anyone familiar with the factual material knows that in certain areas—which would be particularly useful right now—nothing has yet been done. However, this can be easily accomplished by anyone who assimilates what has already been achieved in this field; who assimilates it in such a way that he or she makes productive use of it. Then, if at the same time they are imbued with spiritual insight, they will not end up creating a foundation for physiology in which, as it were, every organ is regarded as equal in the dissection of the organism. What is the essential factor that prevents modern physiology from advancing? It is the fact that the organism is dissected. We have the heart, lungs, liver, and so on; we study them all as if they were equal organic components lying side by side. But that is not the case. All these individual components have different antecedents of their values. And in a piece of liver, we do not have the same matter at hand as we do in a piece of heart muscle or the like. The point here is that one must add a certain factor to what the purely external sensory data provides—a factor I can describe only as a certain objective value inherent in the organ in question. This will become clear to the physiologist once he undertakes the task of precisely comparing an organ within the fully developed human organism with actual embryology. He will then realize that embryology today operates in such a one-sided manner because, in a sense, it tracks only an ascending process and not a descending one that runs parallel to it. One proceeds correctly only when, at every stage of embryonic development, one identifies something that, like a mathematical function, contains a factor of decay and another factor of productivity. And when one is able to apply what one has thus gained in terms of value assessments to the organ in its full form within the organism—when one does not simply juxtapose the heart and the liver as organs of equal value (for they possess different qualitative values)—then one will stand at the very moment when the magnificent results of our physiological world of facts will be illuminated most clearly.

[ 29 ] What I have described in this way with regard to physiology, I could also describe to you with regard to biology, history, and cultural history. There you see a field of work that lies before us, one that must be cultivated. There you see, in vivid terms, the state of contemporary philosophy and science in relation to what we have—I would say—through the favor of circumstances, through our human karma, in the form of positive results. All around us, research into facts has yielded the most beautiful results. Anyone who familiarizes themselves with these facts will behold a marvelous development. What is lacking is the sharp penetrating power, the energy of philosophical thought, which can only—when applied, but applied courageously to the facts—present these facts in their true light. This was explicitly stated from an epistemological perspective in my foundational epistemological work Truth and Science. There you will find a reference to that kind of epistemology which holds that our epistemology does not remain without objective significance, but must be such that the epistemological results serve to enrich our subject of cognition, so that it can immerse itself in what is given to us by the broader context of science. If, from the beginnings that are to develop in this field out of our Spiritual Science movement—and in all fields of science—we work in the proper manner with seriousness and dignity; if we do not remain stuck in a certain theosophical dilettantism but instead immerse ourselves rigorously in what is scientifically given, we will arrive at —instead of having, as is indeed the case today, a metaphysics without transcendental conviction—to have a metaphysics that, through the tools forged for it by a productive theory of knowledge, penetrates through the outer realm of the sensory into the supersensory. Then it will possess conviction, because it will rest upon a theory of knowledge, and because it will be able to enrich the human subject of cognition. Logic will gain its content, because the laws of thought will emerge as laws of the world. Ethics, too, will be able to possess what one might call a sense of obligation, because productive cognition pours itself into our impulses. We will have an ethics grounded in obligation. Then we will also have what is not a psychology without a soul, but a psychology with a soul, for the human thirst for knowledge is directed toward questions about the soul and its destiny in the world.

[ 30 ] This was meant to be a modest attempt to show you where we actually stand when we shift our gaze from what we can feel spiritually within ourselves to the realm of what has been explored—the scientific reality that surrounds us. If I were to describe to you every single aspect of what exists scientifically, I would have to give many lectures. But many things will become clear in due course. I simply wanted to show what kind of “tendency” may lie within our Spiritual Science if the possibilities it holds are sought not merely for selfish reasons—to satisfy the most immediate personal goals—but rather to contribute to the spirit, to the cultural process of humanity.