The Rudolf Steiner Archive

First Lecture

[ 1 ] The topic of this lecture series was not chosen based on any tradition of philosophical-academic study—for example, because we felt that something epistemological or similar should be included in our lectures—but rather it was chosen based on what I believe to be an unbiased observation of the needs and demands of our time. For the next stage in humanity’s development, we need concepts, mental images, and, in general, impulses for social life; we need ideas whose realization will enable us to bring about social conditions that can provide people of all walks of life, classes, and so on with an existence they consider dignified. After all, even in the broadest circles today, we speak of the fact that social renewal must originate from the spirit. But not everyone in these broadest circles has a clear and distinct mental image of what is meant when we speak in this way. People do not ask themselves: Where are the mental images and ideas supposed to come from that would serve to establish a social economy offering people a dignified existence? The educated segment of humanity has, after all, been brought up on mental images and ideas over the last three to four centuries—but especially since the 19th century—particularly those who have undergone academic study; these individuals have, in fact, been thoroughly shaped and matured by the modern scientific approach. It is only in circles where people engage in pursuits other than the natural sciences that one believes the natural sciences have little influence on these pursuits. Yet it is easy to demonstrate that even in, for example, modern, more advanced theology, history, and jurisprudence, scientific concepts—that is, concepts as they have been developed through scientific inquiry over the past few centuries—have found their way in, and that traditional concepts have, in a certain sense, been reshaped in light of these new ones. And one need only, for example, let the course of new theological developments in the 19th century pass before one’s mind’s eye, to see how, for example, Protestant theology arrived at its views on the personality of Jesus and the nature of Christ precisely because it had, so to speak, the concepts of the natural sciences in the background at all times—concepts by which it felt criticized, concepts it sought to satisfy, and concepts it did not wish to violate. And then came the other factor: the old, instinctive bonds of social life gradually lost their vitality in human existence. As the 19th century progressed, it became increasingly necessary to replace those instincts—through which one class had submitted to the dictates of another, and from which the newer parliamentary institutions and their outcomes had also emerged—with more or less conscious concepts. Not only within the current of Marxism, but also in many other currents, what might be called a transformation of the old social instincts into conscious concepts took shape.

[ 2 ] But what had found its way into the social sciences—I would say, into this “favorite child” of modern thought? It was those concepts—specifically, conceptual forms—that had been shaped by studies in the natural sciences. And today we face the big question: How far can we go with social effectiveness that stems from such concepts? And when we look at the turmoil in the world, when we consider all the hopelessness that arises from the various attempts being made based on these ideas, on these concepts, we get a rather grim picture. This raises the significant question: What is the true nature of the concepts we have derived from the natural sciences—concepts we now wish to apply in life—and which, as is already clearly evident in many areas, are in fact being rejected by life itself? It is this vital question, this burning issue of our time, that has led me to choose precisely this topic—“Beyond the Limits of Natural Knowledge”— and which will lead me to address this topic in such a way that one can gain an overview of what natural science is capable of—and what it is not—in contributing to an appropriate social order, and where one must turn in scientific research and in worldviews if one seriously wishes to engage with the demands of human existence, particularly in our time.

[ 3 ] What do we see when we look at the entire way of thinking within scientific circles—and at how all those who are influenced by these circles have come to think—what do we see there? We see that the initial aim is to investigate, document, and systematize the facts of nature in a transparent manner using clear concepts. We see how attempts are made to systematically organize the facts of inanimate nature through the various sciences—mechanics, physics, chemistry, and so on—but also to penetrate them with certain concepts through which they are to become explainable to us in a certain way. In relation to this inanimate nature, the aim is to achieve the greatest possible clarity and transparent concepts. And one consequence of this pursuit of transparent concepts is that one would actually prefer to penetrate everything in the realm of inanimate nature within the human environment with mathematical formulas everywhere. One would like to express the facts of nature in clear mathematical formulas, in the transparent language of mathematics.

[ 4 ] It was in the last third of the 19th century that people believed they were already very close to being able to provide a mathematical-mechanical explanation of nature that was, so to speak, transparent in every respect. All that remained, I would say, was the tiny speck of the atom. People sought to reduce it to a mere point of force in order to express its position and its forces of motion in mathematical formulas. They believed this would allow them to say: I am looking into nature; in reality, I am looking into a web of force relationships and movements that I can fully comprehend mathematically. — And this gave rise to the ideal of the so-called astronomical explanation of nature, which essentially states: Just as one expresses the relationships among the celestial bodies in mathematical formulas, so too, on the very small scale—in a sense, within this tiny cosmos of atoms and molecules—one should be able to calculate everything using transparent mathematics. That was the endeavor that reached a certain peak—a peak that has now already been surpassed—in the last third of the 19th century. However, this pursuit of a mathematically transparent worldview is countered by something entirely different, and this becomes immediately apparent when one attempts to extend this endeavor beyond the realm of inanimate nature. As you know, attempts were made throughout the 19th century to introduce this perspective—this pursuit of transparent mathematical clarity—at least in part into the explanation of living organisms. And while Kant had said that there would never be a Newton capable of introducing an explanation based on the principle of causality into the nature of living beings in the same way as into inorganic nature, Haeckel was already able to say that this Newton had emerged in Darwin—that a genuine attempt had indeed been made to demonstrate, through the principle of selection, in a transparent manner, so to speak, how living beings develop. And it was precisely this kind of transparency—a transparency at least reminiscent of the mathematical worldview—that was sought in all explanations extending up to human beings. And this fulfilled what some natural scientists had expressed by saying: “The human need for causality in relation to phenomena is initially satisfied when one arrives at such a transparent, clear understanding.”

[ 5 ] But now, of course, there is something else that stands in opposition to all of this. I would like to say, “Theories about theories have been devised in order to arrive at a worldview such as the one I have just characterized.” And time and again, alongside those who strove for such a worldview—sometimes it was the very same people who simultaneously created their own opposition—there always arose another camp that demonstrated how such a worldview could never provide true explanations, how such a worldview could never satisfy humanity’s need for knowledge. On the one hand, it was always demonstrated how necessary it is to maintain a worldview of mathematical clarity; on the other hand, it was demonstrated that such a worldview would, for example, be entirely incapable of even mentally constructing the simplest living being with any kind of mathematical clarity—indeed, that it would not even be capable of intellectually constructing organic substance in any way. One might say: Time and again, one side spun a web of ideas to explain nature, while the other—and sometimes the very same—side in turn unraveled it.

[ 6 ] This spectacle—for, to those who could observe it with sufficient detachment, it was essentially a kind of spectacle—could be observed, particularly over the last fifty years, within all scientific endeavor and work. Precisely when one has felt the full weight of the fact that, in the face of such a serious matter, there has been a constant process of formation and dissolution, one might raise the question: Yes, is perhaps the entire pursuit of such a conceptual explanation of the facts something unnecessary? Is not the correct answer to a question arising from all this perhaps that one should simply let the facts speak for themselves, that one should describe what is happening in nature, and that one should refrain from explaining the details? Could it not perhaps be the case that all such explanations are merely a sort of “infancy” in human development, that humanity, in this infancy, strove for them as if they were a kind of luxury, but that a mature humanity must say to itself: “There is no need to strive for such explanations at all; such explanations lead nowhere, and one must simply eradicate the need for explanation.” To eradicate this need for explanation is a sign of the maturity of human perception. - Why not? After all, we do outgrow playing as we get older; why shouldn’t we, if it were justified, simply outgrow the need to explain nature as well?

[ 7 ] I would like to say that such a question could already have arisen when, in a most extraordinary and significant manner, on August 14, 1872, at the second general session of the Assembly of German Naturalists and Physicians, Du Bois-Reymond delivered his famous speech, “On the Limits of the Knowledge of Nature,” which is still worthy of consideration today. Although so much has been written about this speech by Du Bois-Reymond, the eminent physiologist, it is often overlooked that it represents, in a certain sense, a pivotal point in the development of the modern worldview.

[ 8 ] In medieval scholasticism, all human thought and the formation of ideas were subordinated to the view that while one could explain what exists in the vast realm of nature through certain concepts, one must draw a line when it came to the supernatural. The supernatural must be the subject of revelation. The supernatural is to stand before human beings in such a way that they would not even wish to penetrate it with the concepts they form about the realm of nature and external human existence. A boundary was thus set for knowledge as it pertains to the supernatural. And it was emphatically stressed that such a boundary must exist, that it simply lies in human nature and in the structure of the world that such a boundary be recognized. From an entirely different perspective, this setting of boundaries was renewed by thinkers and researchers such as Du Bois-Reymond. They were no longer scholastics; they were no longer “theologians.” But just as the medieval theologian, based on his mode of thinking, set a limit with regard to the supernatural, so these researchers and thinkers were confronted with sensory facts. This limit was asserted first and foremost in relation to the external world of facts.

[ 9 ] There were two concepts that stood before Du Bois-Reymond’s intellectual gaze, and of which he says they mark the limit to which natural science can reach, but beyond which it cannot go. Later, in his lecture on “The Seven World Mysteries,” he expanded upon them with five additional concepts; at that time, however, he spoke of the two concepts of matter and consciousness. He said: As we survey the facts of nature, we are compelled to use such concepts in our systematic, intellectual exploration that we ultimately arrive at matter. But what actually lurks in the realm when we speak of matter—that we can never investigate in any way. We must simply accept the concept of matter as an obscure concept. If we accept this obscure concept of matter, then we can apply our mathematical formulas; then we can incorporate the motion of matter into these formulas; and then the external world—if we only have this, I might say, obscure little dot incorporated into them millions and millions of times—will become transparent to us. But we must assume that this material world is also the one that initially constitutes us physically, that unfolds its activity within us physically, so that through this physical activity within us arises that which ultimately becomes sensation and consciousness. On the one hand, we are confronted with the world of facts, which compels us to construct the concept of matter; on the other hand, we are confronted with ourselves, experiencing the fact of consciousness, observing the phenomena of consciousness, and able to surmise that what we assume to be matter also underlies this consciousness; but how what is consciousness—even the simplest sensation—emerges from these movements of matter, from these entirely lifeless, dead movements, is something that can never be fathomed. This is the other pole of all uncertainties, of all limits of knowledge: consciousness, indeed even the simplest sensation,

[ 10 ] With regard to the two questions: What is matter? How does consciousness arise from material processes?—we, as natural scientists, must—according to Du Bois-Reymond—admit an ignorabimus, a “We will never know.” — This is the modern counterpart to medieval scholasticism. Medieval scholasticism stood at the threshold to the supernatural world; modern natural science stands at the threshold that is essentially defined by these two concepts: matter, which is presupposed everywhere in the sensible world but cannot be found within it, and consciousness, which one wishes to assume arises from the sensible world, but of which one can never comprehend how it arises from it.

[ 11 ] When one surveys this course of development in modern scientific thought, must one not conclude: Natural science is, after all, weaving itself into a certain fabric—and the world lies outside this fabric. For where matter haunts space, there is, after all, the external world. If one cannot penetrate that, then one simply has no mental images that can in any way govern life. In human beings lies the fact of consciousness. Do the explanations one forms based on external nature come close to this fact of consciousness? After all, all explanations stop short of human life; how, then, can one arrive at concepts regarding how a human being can position themselves in existence in a manner befitting their dignity, if one does not understand existence, if one does not understand the nature of the human being according to the assumptions one makes about this existence?

[ 12 ] I believe it will become abundantly clear to us, particularly in the course of this class, that it is the impotence of the modern scientific way of thinking that has left us so powerless when it comes to the formation of social concepts. People still do not realize today just how important and fundamental this connection is. People still do not realize today that when Du Bois-Reymond pronounced his Ignorabimus in Leipzig on August 14, 1872, this Ignorabimus was also hurled at all social thought—that this Ignorabimus actually meant: We do not know how to cope with real life; we have shadow concepts, not concepts of reality. — And now, almost fifty years later, the world demands such concepts from us. We must have them. These concepts, these impulses, cannot come to us from the lecture halls, which, in essence, are still operating under the influence of this “Ignorabimus.” That is the fundamental tragedy of the present. Therein lie the questions that must be answered.

[ 13 ] Let us begin with the basic elements of such an answer; above all, let us ask ourselves the question: Could we, as human beings, perhaps do anything more sensible than explain nature, when—following the pattern of the ancient Penelope, particularly over the last fifty years—we have, on the one hand, spun theories and, on the other, unraveled them again? Yes, if we could—if we could face the course of nature without thought! But we cannot do that, insofar as we are human beings at all and wish to remain so. We must, by grasping nature through thought, imbue it with concepts and ideas. Why must we do that?

[ 14 ] Yes, my esteemed audience, we must do this, because it is only through this that our consciousness awakens, because it is only through this that we become conscious human beings. Just as, in essence, every morning when we open our eyes, we regain consciousness through our interactions with the external world, so it was also in the course of human evolution. It was only through the interaction of the senses and thought with the external processes of nature that consciousness was first kindled, and only then did consciousness become what it is today. We can see the development of consciousness unfold historically through humanity’s sensory interaction with the external natural world. Out of the dull, sleepy cultural life of primeval times, consciousness was kindled through humanity’s sensory interaction with the external natural world. But if we simply observe this kindling of consciousness—this reciprocal interaction between human beings and the external natural world—with an open mind, we will find that something peculiar is taking place within the human being. When we look back into our inner life—whether by waking up in the morning and, before fully waking, remaining immersed in the dullness of dream consciousness, or by looking at the primordial states of human development, at the almost dreamlike consciousness of those primeval times— when we take all of this into account—what is, so to speak, pushed back in our inner life behind the surface reality of consciousness that arises from our sensory interaction with the external world—we find a world of imagination that is not very intense, attenuated to the point of dream images, with blurred contours, the individual images merging into one another. An unbiased observation can ascertain all of this. This low intensity of the imaginative life, this blurriness of the contours, this blurring together of the individual images—it does not cease until we awaken to a complete sensory interaction with the external natural world. In order to achieve this awakening—that is, to attain full human existence—we must awaken each new morning to a communion of the senses with nature. But all of humanity, too, had to awaken first from the dull, dreamlike primal view of the world to the present clear mental image arising from such a soul world.

[ 15 ] This means that we acquire that clarity of mental image, those sharply defined concepts, that we need in order to be awake and to observe our surroundings with an alert soul; we need all of this to be human in the fullest sense of the word. But we cannot conjure it up out of thin air. At first, we can gain it only through our sensory interaction with nature. That is where we arrive at clear, sharply defined concepts. That is where we develop something that human beings must develop for their own sake; otherwise, their consciousness would not awaken. It is therefore not an abstract need for explanation—not what people like Du Bois-Reymond or others call a “need for causality”—but rather the need to become human through the observation of nature that drives us to seek explanations. We must not, therefore, say that we can wean ourselves from seeking explanations, just as we wean ourselves from children’s games, for that would imply that we do not wish to become human beings in the full sense of the word—that is, to bring about our own awakening in the way we must awaken.

[ 16 ] But something else becomes apparent here. It turns out that, in arriving at such clear concepts—which we develop through nature—we become conceptually, inwardly, impoverished. Our concepts become clear, but their scope becomes limited. And when we then reflect on what we have achieved through these clear concepts, it is an external, mathematical-mechanical clarity. But in what has thus become clarity, we find nothing that makes life seem comprehensible to us. We have, so to speak, come into the light, but we have lost the ground beneath our feet. We find no concepts that would allow us to visualize life—or even consciousness itself—in any way. With the clarity we must attain for the sake of our humanity, we lose the substance of what we were actually striving for. And so we look around at nature through our concepts. We form clear concepts—the mechanistic-mathematical order of nature. We construct conceptual worlds such as the theory of descent and the like. We strive for clarity. With this clarity, we construct a worldview. But within this worldview, there is no way to find humanity—ourselves—inside it. We have reached the surface of our understanding with our concepts, all the way to our interaction with nature. We arrive at clarity, but along the way we have lost humanity. We walk through nature, apply the mathematical-mechanical explanation of nature, we apply the theory of descent, we formulate all sorts of biological concepts, we explain nature, we shape a picture of nature—but humanity cannot be part of it. We have lost the full richness of meaning that we once had, and so we stand before the very concept that we can form with—I would say—the most utterly parched concepts, the clearest yet most parched and lifeless concepts; we stand before the concept of matter. And, fundamentally speaking, the “Ignorabimus” regarding the concept of matter is simply the admission: I have forced myself to clarity, I have forced myself to the full awakening of consciousness, but in doing so I have lost the essence of the human being in my cognition, in my explanation, in my comprehension.

[ 17 ] And then we turn inward. We turn away from the material world and now look into the inner realm of consciousness. We observe how mental images flow within this inner realm of consciousness, how feelings unfold, and how impulses of will course through us. We observe all of this, and lo and behold, when we now try to unfold in our self-observation that clarity we have attained in relation to external nature—it does not work. We are, so to speak, swimming in an element that we cannot bring into clear contours, that keeps blurring away. The clarity we strive for in relation to external nature cannot be applied to our inner world. We see in the most modern endeavors directed toward this inner world—in Anglo-American associationist psychology—how the clarity gained through the observation of external nature, the of things and processes—how one seeks to apply this, following the model of Hume, Mill, James, and so on, to mental images and sensation. One transfers external clarity to sensation. It doesn’t work. It is as if one were to try to apply the laws of flight to swimming. One cannot cope in the element in which one must now move. Associative psychology fails to arrive at a true delineation, at clarity regarding the fact of consciousness. And even if one tries, with a certain objectivity—like Herbart—to apply mathematics, which yields such successes in the external natural world, to human mental images, to the soul: one can calculate, but the calculations hang in the air. One cannot make any headway, because mathematical formulas cannot grasp what is actually taking place in the soul. While one has lost sight of the human being in the clarity of the external world, one does indeed find the human being—it goes without saying that one finds the human being when one returns to consciousness—but one can now do nothing with that clarity, for one floats aimlessly, torn back and forth within this consciousness. One finds the human being, but one finds no image of the human being.

[ 18 ] This is precisely what was felt, but it was expressed less precisely—rather, merely as a certain general sentiment toward modern natural science—in August 1872 by Du Bois-Reymond with the phrase “Ignorabimus.” Essentially, this “Ignorabimus” means: In the course of human history, we have, on the one hand, achieved clarity regarding nature and constructed the concept of matter. In this image of nature, we have lost humanity—that is, ourselves. We now look back into our own consciousness. We want to apply within our consciousness that which we have attained as the most significant achievement in modern scientific explanation of nature: clarity. Consciousness, however, rejects this clarity. This mathematical clarity cannot be applied. We do indeed find humanity, but our consciousness is not yet strong enough, nor intense enough, to grasp this humanity.

[ 19 ] One might be tempted to respond once again with an “ignorabimus.” But that must not be the case, for we need something other than an “ignorabimus” in the face of the social demands of the modern world. The limit to which Du Bois-Reymond arrived with his “Ignorabimus” on August 14, 1872, lies not in an inherent feature of human nature, but simply in the current state of humanity’s historical development. How can we move beyond this “Ignorabimus”? That is the big question. It must be answered, not merely out of a need for knowledge, but out of the most fundamental need of humanity. And the course will address, in its further progression, how one can strive for an answer and how one can overcome the “Ignorabimus”—just as it must be overcome by the development of humanity.