The Impulse for Renewal in Culture and Science
GA 81
6 March 1922, Berlin
1. Anthroposophy and Natural Science
Welcome, all who are present here! It was the wish of the committees of this High School week that I give an introduction each day regarding the course which will take place in a scientifically orientated process. It will be conducted with the aim of Anthroposophy fructifying the individual branches of science and of life, and with these introductory words I ask you to take up this first lecture.
What has surprised me the most at the reception of the anthroposophical research method is the opposition, particularly from the philosophic-natural scientific side—I'm not only saying the natural scientific side—brought against Anthroposophy, and it stems from a basic belief that Anthroposophy's methods stand in an unauthorised, opposing position to those of natural science which has developed exponentially in the last century, particularly the 19th Century. It seems to me that among all the various things related to Anthroposophy which our contemporaries find the most difficult to understand, is this, that Anthroposophy in relation to natural science doesn't want anything other than that the methods used by natural science which have proved so fruitful, be developed further in a corresponding manner. In any case, with the idea of further development something else needs understanding, if one wants to arrive at an anthroposophic understanding, than that which one usually calls further evolution from a theoretical point of view.
Further development from a theoretical point of view for most people means that the particular way thoughts are linked—particularly if I may express it as the field of thought—remains constant, also when relevant thought systems expand to other areas of the world's phenomena. So for instance when you engage scientifically with lifeless, inorganic nature you necessarily come to linking thoughts, to a certain field of thought, which means the sum of linking thoughts is a foundation, in order to gradually arrive at a theory about lifeless, inorganic nature. This system of thoughts, as it stands, you now want to extend when you enter another sphere of the world, for example the sphere of organic phenomena in nature, in order to understand it. You would want with this causal orientation, which has proved itself so fruitful in the inorganic area, to simply apply it to living beings and in the same terms, drenching and explaining it, thus gradually conceptualising the sphere of the living beings similarly into an effective system derived from inorganic causalities which you would be doing with regard to lifeless, inorganic nature. What you have appropriated as a system of thought derived from lifeless nature, you simply apply to organic nature. This is what is usually understood today, as the ‘expansion’ of thoughts and theories.
This is of course quite the opposite of what Anthroposophy regards under such an idea as the expansion of thinking. A fully rounded concept of an independently developed, self metamorphosed idea need to be contained, so that if you want to go from one sphere of world phenomena into another, that you don't merely apply what you have learnt from lifeless natural phenomena, and—I could call it “logically apply”—it on to life-filled phenomena in nature. By comparison, just as things change in the living world, growing, going through metamorphosis, and how they often become unrecognisable from one form into another, so thoughts should also take on other forms when they enter into other spheres. One thing remains the same in all spheres which is what gives the scientific point of view its monistic and methodical character, it's the manner and way in which you can position yourself internally to what can be called “scientific certainty” which forms the basis of scientific convictions.
Whoever wants to find proof why one can't use concepts gleaned from lifeless nature, concepts which are applied through habits, in which to verify human causalities—if I may use Du Bois-Reymond's expression—whoever gets to know this intimately, can then shift over to quite different concepts, concepts which are metamorphosed from earlier concepts, and sound convincing in the world of the living. The way in which the human being is positioned within the scientific movement is completely monistic right though the entire scientific world view. This is usually misunderstood and results in the anthroposophic-scientific viewpoint not having a monistic but a dualistic character.
The second item which commonly leads to misunderstandings is phenomenology, to which Anthroposophy with regard to natural science must submit. We are experiencing a fruitful time of scientific developments, a time in which the important scientific researcher Virchow gave his lecture regarding the separation of the philosophic world view from that of the natural scientific view, how everything had been conquered which at that time had a certain historic rating of fruitful concepts regarding the inorganic, resulting in a certain rationalism being established in science. This period which worked on the one side earnestly from empiricism against the outer world of facts, this still went over to a far-reaching rationalism when it came down to it to elucidate the empirically explored facts of nature.
By contrast we now have the standpoint of Anthroposophy which comes from—at least for me it comes from this, if I might make a personal remark—from the Goethean conception of nature. Anthroposophy stands on the basis of a phenomenological concept of nature. In a certain way this phenomenology of recent times was established again by Ernst Mach, and as he established it, he again appeared to reveal fertile points of view, if one complies with his boundaries. For Goethe it simply lies in his words: The world of appearances is theory enough, one doesn't even need to subscribe to artificial theories. The blue of the sky is a phenomenon which stops there and one can't condescend in a rational way through mere thoughts behind the appearance by looking for hypothetical, assumed reasons for explanations. Goethe arrived at this point by establishing what he called the ‘Ur-phenomenon’ (“Urphänomen” or ‘Original Phenomenon’). It is self explanatory that in the course of the fertile time for science in the 19th Century, much of which has become obsolete, what Goethe envisaged for natural science was the following: The methodical, the way of thinking itself which Goethe introduced into natural science is not only overhauled today but it appears to me to be not sufficiently understood.
I know very well how in the 19th Century several—one could say nearly all—of the details of Goethe's interpretations regarding natural scientific things have been overhauled. Despite that, I would like to sustain a sentence today which I made in the eighties of the previous (19th) Century in relation to Copernicus and Kepler of organic natural science.’ I want to still support this sentence today because I believe the following is justified by it.
What is it that lets us finally arrive at a true perception of nature on which so much of the 19th Century had been achieved? What I'm referring to can't but be set within the boundary of a historic category. What has been achieved through science during the 19th century nearly always refers back to the application of mathematical methods because even where pure mathematics aren't applied, but thoughts steered according to other principles of causality, where theories are developed, here the mathematical way of thinking forms a basis.
It is significant in what happened: we have seen in the course of the 19th Century how certain parties of science in a certain rationalistic way had to form a foundation by the introduction of mathematics. The Kantian saying claims that there is only as much certainty in a science as there is mathematics contained within it. Now obviously mathematics can be introduced into everything. Claims of causality go further than possible mathematical developments of concepts. However, what has been done in terms of explanations of causality was done extensively according to the pattern of mathematical conceptions. When Ernst Mach became involved, considering it with his more phenomenological viewpoint of these concepts of causality, as it had developed in the course of the 19th Century, he wanted to arrive at a certain causal understanding of the contents. Finally he declared: ‘When I consider a process and its cause, there is actually nothing different between it and a mathematical function. For instance, if I say: X equals Y, while X is the cause under the influence of the working called Y, then I have taken the entire thing back to the concept which I have in mathematics, when I created a concept of function. It can also be seen in the history of science, how the concept of mathematics has been brought into the sphere of science.’
Now Goethe is usually regarded—with a certain right—as a non-mathematician; he even called himself as such. However, if one places Goethe there as a non-mathematician, then misunderstandings arise—somewhat in the sense that Goethe couldn't achieve much with mathematical details, that he was not particularly talented in his time to solve mathematical problems. That may of course be admitted. I also don't believe Goethe in his total being had particular patience to solve detailed mathematical examples, if it was more algebraic. That has to be admitted. However, Goethe had in a certain sense, as paradoxical as it might sound, more of a mathematician's brain than some mathematicians; because he had fine insight into mathematized nature, in the nature of building mathematical concepts, and he prized this way of thinking, which lives within the soul process also with the content of imagination when concepts are created.
The mathematician, when building concepts, scrutinizes everything internally. Take for instance a simple example of Euclidean geometry which proves that the three angles of a triangle amounts to 180 degrees, where, by drawing a line parallel to the base line, through the tip of the triangle, two angles are created, which are equal to the other two angles in the triangle—the angle in the tip remains the same of course—and how one can see that these three corners at the top add to 180 degrees, being the total of all the corners of the triangle. When you consider this, you can see that with a mathematical proof you have simultaneously something which is not dependent on outer perception but it is completely observed as an inner creation. If you then have an outer triangle you will find that the outer facts can be verified with one's previous inner scrutiny. That is so with all mathematics. Everything remains the same, no perception of the senses need to be added to it in order to arrive at what is called a “proof”, that everything which has been discovered internally can be verified, piece-by-piece.
It is this particular kind of mathematics which Goethe regarded as eminently scientific and insofar he actually had a good mathematical brain. This for example also leads to the basis of the famous lectures which Goethe and Schiller, during the time of their blossoming friendship, had led regarding the method of scientific consideration. They had both attended a lecture held by the researcher Batsch in the Jena based Naturforschenden Gesellschaft (Nature's Investigator's Club—Wikepedia: August J G Batsch). As they departed from the lecture, Schiller said to Goethe that the content of what they had heard was a very fragmentary method of observing nature, it didn't bring one to a whole.—One can imagine that Batsch simply took single natural objects and ordered them one below another and refrained, as befitted most researchers at the time, from ordering them somehow which could lead to an overall view of nature. Schiller found this unsatisfactory and told Goethe. Goethe said he understood how a certain unification, a certain wholeness had to be brought into observations of nature. Thus, he began with a few lines—he narrates this himself—to draw the “Urpflanze” (Original Plant), how it can be thought about, looked at inwardly—not like some or other plant encountered in the day, but how it could be regarded inwardly through the root, stem, leaves, flowers and fruit.
In my introduction to Goethe's “Naturwissenschaftlichen Schriften” (Natural Scientific Notes) of the 80's of the previous (19th) century, I tried to copy the image which Goethe presented to Schiller on paper.—Schiller looked at it and said, as was his way of expressing himself: ‘This is no experience, this is an idea.’ Schiller actually meant that if one made a drawing of something like that, it had been spun out of oneself, it is good as an idea and as a thought but in reality, it has no source. Goethe couldn't understand this way of thinking at all, and finally the conversation was concluded by his reply: ‘If that is the case then I can see my ideas with my eyes.’
What did Goethe mean by this? He meant—but hadn't expressed it like this, he meant: ‘When I draw a triangle its corners add up to 180 degrees by themselves; when I have seen as many triangles and constructed them within me, the sum of all triangles fit on to this triangle, I have in this way gained something from within which fits the totality of my experiences.’ In this way Goethe wanted to draw his “Urpflanze” according to the “Ur-triangle” and this Ur-plant would have such characteristics that one could find it in all individual plants. Just as the sum of the triangle's corners, when you draw the Ur-triangle, amounts to 180 degrees, so also this ideal image of the Ur-plant would be rediscovered in each plant if you go through an entire row of plants.
In this manner Goethe wanted all of science to take shape. Essentially he wanted—but he couldn't continue—to let organic science be developed and introduce such methods of thinking as had been proven so fruitful for inorganic science. One can very clearly see, when Goethe writes about Italy, how he developed the idea of the Ur-plant ever further. He more or less said: ‘Here among the plants in South Italy and Sicily in the multiplicity of the plant world the Ur-plant rose up for me specially, and it must surely find an image which all actual plants possibly have within them, an image in which many different sides may appear taking on this or that, adapting elongated or other plant forms, soon forming the flower, soon the fruit and more, and so on—just like a triangle can have sharp or blunt corners.’ Goethe searched for an image according to which all plants could be formed. It is quite incorrect when later, Schieiden [Matthias Jakob Schieiden (1804-1881), botanist, Physician and lawyer.—“The plant and Its Life”, 6th edition of Leipzig 1864, Lecture 4: “The Morphology of Plants”, p. 86: “The idea of such laws for the design of the plant was first developed by Goethe in his idea of ‘Urpflanz’, what he put forth as the primal, or ideal plant. That realization was, as it were, the task of nature, and which she more or less has completely achieved completely.”] indicated that Goethe was looking for an actual plant to fit his Ur-plant. This is not correct—just as when a mathematician, when speaking about a triangle, doesn't have a particular triangle in mind—so Goethe was referring to an image, which, proven inwardly, could actually be verified everywhere in the outer world.
Goethe basically had a mathematical brain, much more mathematical than those who develop Astronomy. That's the essence. This led to Goethe, in his conversation with Schiller, to say: ‘Then I see my ideas with my eyes.’ He saw them with his eyes because he could pursue them everywhere in the phenomena. He didn't go along with anything only being an “idea”, because he found complete resonance in the experience of building an idea; just like a mathematician senses harmony within the experience of creating mathematical ideas. This led Goethe, if I might say so, through an inner consequence to arrive at mere phenomenology, that means not trying to find anything behind appearances as such, above all not to create a rationalistic world of atoms.
Here one enters into the area where many—I can but say it—misunderstandings developed relating to battles against some scientific philosophic points of view. It simply meant that what the outer world offered the senses were seen as phenomena. Goethe and with him the entire scientific phenomenology was narrowed down to not going directly from some sense perceptive phenomenon into the atomic content behind it, but by focussing purely on the perceived phenomenon and the single element of the perceived facts, and then to search not for what lies behind it, but for its correlation to other elements of sense-perceptible appearances relating to it.
It is very easy—I understand totally where misunderstandings come from—to find such phenomenology as hopeless. One can say for instance: When one wants to merely narrow down descriptions of mutual relationships in sensory phenomena and search for those phenomena which are the simplest, which possibly have the most manageable facts—which Goethe calls “Ur-phenomena”—then one doesn't come to an observation about endless fruitful things as modern Chemistry has delivered for example. How—one could ask—can one actually arrive at atomic weight ratios without observing the atomic world? Now, in this case one can counter this with the question: When one really reflects what is present there, does it involve a need to start with the phenomenon? One has no involvement with it. With atomic weight ratios one is involved with phenomena, namely weight ratios. Still, one could ask: To go further, could one express the atomic weight ratios numerically in order to clarify how specific molecular structures are built out of pure thought, rationalistically? One could pose this question as well. Briefly, what is not involved when Goethean observation is used, is this: remaining stuck in the phenomena themselves. I would like to compare it with a trivial comparison.
Let's imagine someone is confronted with a written word. What will he do? If he hasn't learnt to read he would meet it as something inexplicable. If he was literate he would unconsciously join the single forms together and encounter its meaning within his soul. He certainly wouldn't start with each symbol, for instance by taking the W and search for its meaning, by approaching the upward stroke, followed by the descending stroke, in order to discover the foundation of the letters. No, he would read—and not search for the underlying to obtain clarity. In this way phenomenology wants to “read” as well. You may remain within the connections of phenomenology and learn to read them, and not, when I offer a complexity of phenomenon, turn back to atomic structures.
It comes down to entering into the field of phenomena and learning to read within their inner meaning. This would lead to a science which has nothing rationalistically construed within it behind the phenomena, but which, simply through the way the phenomena are regarded, lead to certain legitimate structures. In every case this science would be a member of the totality of the phenomena. One would speak in a specific way about nature. With this approach the laws of nature would be contained, but in every instance the phenomena themselves would be contained in the forms of expression. One would achieve what I would like to call a natural science inherent in the phenomena. Along the lines of such a science was Goethe's striving. The way and manner of his approach had to be changed according to the progress of modern times but it still is possible for the fundamental principles to be maintained. When these fundamental principles are adhered to, nature itself presents something towards human conceptualising, which I would like to characterise in the following way.
It is quite obvious that we as modern humanity have developed our scientific concepts according to inorganic nature. This is the result of inorganic natural phenomena being relatively simple; it was also the result of, or course, when one enters the organic realm, the agents of the lifeless processes still persist. When one moves from the mineral to the plant kingdom then it does not happen that the lifeless activities stops in the plant; they only become absorbed into a higher principle, but it continues in the plant. We do the right thing when we follow the physical and chemical processes further in the plant organism according to the same point of view which we are used to following in inorganic nature. We also need to have the ability to shift our belief system towards change, to metamorphosed concepts. We need to research how the inorganic also applies to the plants and how the same processes which are found in lifeless nature, also penetrate the plants. However, this could result in the temptation to only research what lies in the mineral world within the plant and animal and as a result overlook what appears in higher spheres. Due to special circumstances this temptation increased much more in the course of the 19th Century. This happened in the following way.
When one looks at lifeless nature one feels to some extent satisfied because research of the phenomena can be done with mathematical thinking. It is quite understandable that Du Bois-Reymond in his wordy and brilliant manner gave his lecture “Regarding the boundaries of Nature's understanding” in which he, I could call it, celebrated the Laplace world view and called it the “astronomical conception” of the entire natural world existence. According to this astronomical conception not only were the starry heavens to be regarded this way, through mathematical thinking constructing single phenomena into a whole, as far as possible, but that one should try and penetrate with this into the constitution of matter. One molecule was to construct a small world system where the atoms would move in relation to one another like the stars in the world's structure. Man constructed himself in the smallest of the small world system and was satisfied that he would find the same laws in the small as in the big. So one had in the single atoms and molecules a system of moving bodies like one has outside in the world structure's system of fixed stars and planets. This is characteristic of the direction in which mankind was striving particularly in the 19th Century and how people were satisfied, as Du Bois-Reymond said, as a result of the need for causality. It simply developed out of the urge to apply mathematics fruitfully to all natural phenomena. This resulted in the temptation for these mathematicians to remain stuck in their observation of natural phenomena.
It won't occur to anyone, also not an Anthroposophist, if he doesn't want to express himself inexpertly, to deny that this is justified, for instance when someone remains within the phenomena and concerns himself with details, for example in Astronomy, and conceive it in this way. It won't occur to anyone to start a fight against this. However, in the course of the 19th Century it occurred that everything the world offered was overlooked which had a qualitative aspect and only regarded the qualitative aspect by applying mathematical understanding to it. Here one must differentiate: One can admit that this mechanical explanation of the world is valid, nothing can be brought against it. One needs to differentiate between whether it can be applied justifiably to certain areas only, or whether it should be applied as the one and only possible system of understanding everything in the world.
Here lies the point of difference. The Anthroposophist will not argue in the least against something which is justified. Anthroposophy namely won't oppose the other and it is interesting to follow arguments how Anthroposophy actually admits to all which is within justifiable boundaries. It doesn't occur to the Anthroposophist to argue against what natural science has validated. However, it comes down to whether it is justified to include the entire sphere of phenomena with the mathematical-causal way of thinking, or whether it is justifiable, out of the totality of phenomena, to place those of a purely mathematical-causal abstraction as a “conceived” content, as it had been done in earlier atomic theory.
Today atomic theory has to a certain extent become phenomenological, and to this extent Anthroposophy concurs. However even today it comes down to some spooks of the 19th Century appearing in this un-Goethean atomic theory, which doesn't limit itself to phenomena but constructs a purely conceptual framework behind the phenomena. When one isn't clear about it being a purely conceptual framework, that the world searches behind phenomena, but that the appearance claims this conceptual framework is reality, then one becomes nailed down by it. It is extraordinary how such conceptual frameworks nail people down. Through them they become more dogmatic and say: ‘There are people who want to explain the organic through quite different concepts which they find from quite somewhere else, but this doesn't exist; we have developed such conceptual structures which encompass the world behind the phenomena; this is the only world and this must also be the only workable way with regard the organic sphere.’—In this way the observation of the organic sphere is imported into the phenomena observed in inorganic nature; the organic is seen as having been created in the same way as inorganic nature.
Here clarity needs to be established. Without clarity no real foundation for a discussion can be created. Anthroposophy never intends sinning against legitimate methods in a dilettante manner, it will not sin against justified atomic theory; it wants to keep the route free from the creation of thought structures which had been developed earlier for the inorganic sphere and now needs to be created for other areas of nature. This will happen if one says to oneself: ‘In the phenomena I only want to “read”, that means, what I finally get out of the content of natural laws, dwell within the phenomena themselves—just as by reading a word, the meaning is revealed from within the letters. If I lovingly remain standing within the phenomena and am not intent on applying some hypothetical thought structure to it, then I would remain free in my scientific sense for the further development of the concept.’ This ability to remain free is what we need to develop.
We may not take a system of beliefs which have been fully developed and nailed down for a specific area of nature, and apply it to other areas. If we develop mere phenomenology which can obviously only happen if one takes the observed, or through an experiment of chosen phenomena which have been penetrated with thought and is thus linked to natural laws, one remains stuck within the phenomena, but now one arrives at another kind of relationship to thoughts themselves; one comes to the experience of how phenomena already exist within the laws of nature and how they now appear in our thoughts. If we allow ourselves to enter into these thoughts we no longer have the justification in as far as we are remaining within the phenomena, to speak of subjective thoughts or objective laws of nature. We simply dive into the phenomena and then give thought content to the content of the natural laws, which presents us with the things themselves. This is how Goethe could say naively: ‘Then I see my ideas in Nature’—which were actually laws of nature—‘with my own eyes.’
When you position yourself in this particular way in the phenomena of inorganic nature, then it is possible to go over into the organic, also within scientific terms. When a person sees that his horse is brown or a gray (Schimmel) horse is white, he won't refer back to the inorganic colour but refer to what is living in a soul-spiritual way in the organism itself. People will learn to understand how the empowered inner organisation of the animal or plant produces the colour out of themselves.
In addition, it is obvious that all the minutiae, for example the functioning of metabolism, need to be examined from within. However, then one doesn't apply the organic to what one has found in the inorganic. One doesn't nail oneself firmly on to a specific system of thought, and one doesn't apply the same basic conviction you had in one area on to other areas. One remains more of a “mathematical mind” than those who refuse to allow concepts to metamorphose into the qualitative. Then one is able to reach higher areas of nature's existence through inner examination just as one is able to validate through inner examination, the lifeless mathematical structures. This is what I briefly wanted to sketch for you, and if it is expanded further, will show that the scientific side of Anthroposophy is always able, what Goethe calls being accountable, to all, even the most diligent mathematician. This was Goethe's goal with the development of his idea of the Ur-plant, which he came to, and the idea of the Ur-animal, at which he didn't arrive. Anthroposophy strives to allow the origins of Goethe's world view to emerge with regards to nature's phenomena and from the grasping of the vital element in imagination to let it rise to the form of the plant and to the form of the animal. Already during the eighties (1880's)I indicated that we need to metamorphose concepts taken from inorganic for organic nature. I'll speak more about this during the coming days.
As a result of this one comes to perceive within the organic what the actual principle of the process, the formative principle, is. Now, in conclusion of this reflection I would like to introduce something which will lead to further observations in the coming days; something which will show how this materialistic phase of scientific development is not be undervalued by Anthroposophy.
Anthroposophy must see an important evolutionary principle in this materialistic phase of natural science, an educational method through which one has once learnt to submit oneself to the empiricism of the outer senses. This was extraordinarily educational for the development of mankind, and now when this education has been enjoyed, one can look at certain things with great clarity. Whoever now, equipped with such a scientific sense for observing the outer material world, will make the observation that this material world is ‘mirrored’ in people, if I might use this expression.
The world we experience within is more or less an abstraction of an inner image permeated by experiences and will impulses of the outer material world so that when we move from the material outer world to the soul-spiritual, we come to nothing but imagery. Let's hold on to this firmly: outwardly there's the totality of material phenomena, which we are looking at in a phenomenological sense—and within, the soul-spiritual which has a particular abstract character, a pictorial character. If one approaches the observation with an anthroposophical view that the spiritual lies at the basis of the outer material world, the spirit which works in the movement of the stars, in the creation of minerals, plants and animals, then one enters in the spiritual creation of the outer world; one gets to know this through imagination, inspiration and intuition, then this is also an inner mirror image of the human being. But what is this inner mirror image of the human being? It is our physical organs. They respond to me in what I've learnt to know as the nature of the sun, the nature of the moon, minerals, plants, animals and so on; this is how the inner organs answer me. I only get to know my inner human organism when I get to know the outer things of the world. The material world outside mirrors in my soul-spiritual; the soul spiritual world outside reflects itself in the form of lungs, liver, heart and so on. The inner organs are, when you look at them, in the same relationship with the spiritual outer world as the relationship of our thoughts and experiences are to the material outer world.
This shows us how Anthroposophy consistently does not want to reject materialism in an enthusiastic sense. Look at the entire scope of natural science: thousands will be dissatisfied with results obtained through the usual methods of natural science. Anthroposophy and its methods will gradually gain an opinion regarding the material world which does not result in dissatisfaction. It acknowledges matter in its own organisation and in the phenomenology of the environment but it has to acknowledge at the same time that the inner organisation is the result, the consequences of the cosmic soul-spiritual. Through this it wants to supplement what has only mathematically been accomplished in astronomy, astrophysics, physics or chemistry. This it wants to explore further in an organic cosmology and so on, and as a result bring about an understanding with materialistic people. In this lies the foundation of what Anthroposophy wants to offer to medicine, biology and so on.
So I believe that through these indications which I've only been able to give as a sketch, it will point out how Anthroposophy, when it is correctly understood, can't be seen as wanting to initiate a war against today's science but on the contrary, that the present day representatives of science haven't crossed the bridge to Anthroposophy to see how it also wants to be strictly scientific with regards to natural phenomena.
Anthroposophie Und Naturwissenschaft
Sehr verehrte Anwesende! Es war der Wunsch des Komitees für diese Hochschulwoche, daß ich an jedem Tage durch einige Ausführungen einleite, was im Laufe des Tages wissenschaftlich zur Verhandlung kommen soll. Es ist das ja wohl so eingerichtet worden aus der Anschauung heraus, daß durch Anthroposophie die einzelnen Wissenschafts- und Lebenszweige eine gewisse Befruchtung erfahren sollen; und nur in diesem Sinne, als einleitende Bemerkungen zu den Verhandlungen des Tages, bitte ich Sie diese ersten Vorträge aufzufassen. Was mich immer am meisten gewundert hat bei der Entgegennahme der anthroposophischen Forschungsmethode, das ist der Widerstand, der insbesondere von philosophisch-naturwissenschaftlicher Seite — ich sage nicht: rein von naturwissenschaftlicher Seite - der Anthroposophie entgegengebracht wird, und zwar aus dem Grunde, weil man glaubt, daß Anthroposophie in einer unberechtigten oppositionellen Weise den Methoden der Naturwissenschaft gegenüberstehe, welche sich in so fruchtbarer Art im Laufe der letzten Jahrhunderte, insbesondere des 19. Jahrhunderts herausgebildet haben. Und mir scheint, daß unter all den Dingen, die in bezug auf Anthroposophie von unserer Zeitgenossenschaft am allerschwersten eingesehen werden, das ist, daß Anthroposophie gerade gegenüber der Naturwissenschaft nichts anderes will, als die Methoden, die in der Naturwissenschaft sich so fruchtbar erwiesen haben, in entsprechender Weise weiterzubilden. Allerdings muß man unter der Idee der Weiterbildung etwas anderes noch verstehen können, wenn man von dieser Seite her zum Begreifen des Anthroposophischen kommen will, als das, was man gewöhnlich heute eine Weiterbildung von theoretisCl'len Anschauungen nennt.
Eine Weiterbildung der theoretischen Anschauungen ist heute den meisten Menschen dieses: daß die besondere Art der Gedankenverknüpfung - insbesondere, wenn ich mich so ausdrücken darf, das Feld der Gedanken — dieselbe bleibt, auch wenn man die betreffenden Gedankensysteme auf andere Gebiete der Welterscheinungen ausdehnt. So zum Beispiel: Man kommt, wenn man sich naturwissenschaftlich betätigt, gegenüber der leblosen, der anorganischen Natur in die Notwendigkeit, gewisse Gedankenverknüpfungen, ein gewisses Feld von Gedanken, das heißt eine Summe von miteinander verbundenen Gedanken zugrundezulegen, um gewissermaßen eine Theorie der unorganischen, der leblosen Naturerscheinungen zu bekommen. Dieses System von Gedanken will man dann so, wie es ist, weiter ausdehnen, wenn man ein anderes Gebiet der Welt, also zum Beispiel das Gebiet der organischen Naturerscheinungen, zu begreifen bestrebt ist. Man will also mit derjenigen kausalen Orientierung, die sich so fruchtbar erweist im unorganischen Gebiet, einfach hinübergehen in das Gebiet der Lebewesen und diese mit denselben Begriffen durchtränken und erklären, also gewissermaßen begrifflich das Gebiet der Lebewesen ebenso zu einem Wirkungssystem von unorganischen Kausalitäten machen, wie man ja genötigt ist, es gegenüber der leblosen, der unorganischen Natur zu tun. Also was man sich angeeignet hat als Gedankensystem aus der leblosen Natur, das trägt man einfach hinüber in die organische Natur. Und das ist das, was man heute gewöhnlich unter «Erweiterung» von Gedanken und Theorien versteht.
Damit steht allerdings dann im vollen Gegensatz, was Anthroposophie unter einer solchen Erweiterung von Gedanken verstehen muß. Sie muß den Begriff eines gewissen selbständigen Wachsens, eines Sichmetamorphosierens der Idee vollziehen, wenn von einem Gebiete der Welterscheinungen zu einem anderen übergegangen wird, so daß man nicht bloß das, was man an den leblosen Naturerscheinungen gelernt hat, ich möchte sagen «logisch übertragen» kann auf die belebten Naturerscheinungen. So wie vergleichsweise in der Lebewelt die Dinge selber sich sehr verändern, wenn sie wachsen, wenn sie Metamorphosen durchmachen, und wie sie dann oftmals in der Gestaltung, die sie angenommen haben, gar nicht wiederzuerkennen sind, so müssen auch die Gedanken andere Gestaltungen annehmen, wenn sie in ein anderes Gebiet kommen. Was aber über alle Gebiete hin dasselbe bleibt und was dann der ganzen wissenschaftlichen Weltauffassung methodisch einen monistischen Charakter gibt, das ist die Art und Weise, wie man sich innerlich stellt zu dem, was man «wissenschaftliche Gewißheit» nennen kann, was die Grundlage gibt zur wissenschaftlichen Überzeugung. Wer zu prüfen vermag, warum man nicht mit den Begriffen, die man in der leblosen Natur schon einmal gewohnt ist anzuwenden, zu einer Befriedigung des menschlichen Kausalitätsbedürfnisses kommt - wenn ich mich des Du Bois-Reymondschen Ausdruckes bedienen darf —, wer das wirklich innerlich kennenlernt, der kann es dann hinüberführen in die Art und Weise, wie man durch ganz andere Begriffe, die aber doch nur Metamorphosen gegenüber den früheren Begriffen sind, überzeugt wird in der Welt des Lebendigen. Diese Art, wie sich der Mensch da innerhalb des Wissenschaftsgetriebes stellt, ist durchaus monistisch durch die ganze wissenschaftliche Weltanschauung hindurch. Das ist etwas, was gewöhnlich mißverstanden wird und was dazu führt, daß man der anthroposophisch-wissenschaftlichen Weltanschauung nicht einen monistischen, sondern einen dualistischen Charakter beilegen will.
Das zweite, was sehr häufig zu Mißverständnissen führt, ist der Phänomenalismus, dem sich Anthroposophie gerade mit Bezug auf Naturwissenschaft hingeben muß. Wir haben ja gerade in dem für so vieles fruchtbarsten Zeitalter naturwissenschaftlicher Entwicklung, etwa in der Zeit, in welcher der bedeutende Naturforscher Virchow seine Rede gehalten hat über die Ablösung der philosophischen Weltanschauung durch die naturwissenschaftliche, erfahren, wie alles, was damals mit einer gewissen historischen Berechtigung an fruchtbaren Begriffen über das Anorganische gewonnen worden ist, dazu geführt hat, einen gewissen Rationalismus in der Naturwissenschaft zu begründen. Und das Zeitalter, das auf der einen Seite streng auf Empirismus gegenüber der äußeren Tatsachenwelt hinarbeitete, das erging sich doch in einem sehr weittragenden Rationalismus, wenn es dazu kam, die empirisch erkundeten Naturtatsachen zu erklären.
Demgegenüber steht nun die Anthroposophie auf dem Standpunkte, der sich ergibt — wenigstens für mich sich ergeben hat, wenn ich diese persönliche Bemerkung machen darf — aus der Goetheschen Naturauffassung heraus. Anthroposophie steht auf dem Boden einer phänomenologischen Naturauffassung. In einer gewissen Weise hat diese Phänomenologie in der neueren Zeit wieder Ernst Mach begründet, und so wie er sie begründet, scheint sie durchaus wiederum fruchtbare Gesichtspunkte zu enthalten, wenn man ihre Grenzen einhält. Es handelt sich bei Goethe einfach um das, was in seinen Worten liegt: Die Erscheinungswelt selbst ist schon genügend Theorie, man braucht nicht erst zu künstlichen Theorien fortzuschreiten. Die Bläue des Himmels ist ein Phänomen, innerhalb dessen man stehenbleiben und sich nicht herbeilassen soll, nun in rationalistischer Weise durch bloße Gedanken hinter den Erscheinungen zunächst hypothetische, angenommene Erklärungsgründe zu suchen. Goethe kam ja auf diesem Wege zur Statuierung dessen, was er «Urphänomen» nannte. Wenn auch, wie es ja selbstverständlich ist, im Laufe des für die Naturwissenschaft so fruchtbaren 19. Jahrhunderts vieles von dem überholt worden ist, was Goethe in der Naturwissenschaft wollte, so kann man doch sagen: Das Methodische, die Denkweise selbst, die Goethe in die Naturwissenschaft hineingetragen hat, ist heute nicht nur noch nicht überholt, sondern sie scheint mir überhaupt noch nicht gründlich genug verstanden zu sein.
Ich weiß sehr gut, wie im 19. Jahrhundert manches — man möchte sagen fast alles — von den Einzelheiten Goethescher Darstellungen über naturwissenschaftliche Dinge überholt worden ist. Dennoch möchte ich auch heute noch den Satz aufrecht erhalten, den ich in den 80er Jahren des vorigen Jahrhunderts in bezug auf die Goethesche Naturanschauung ausgesprochen habe: daß Goethe der Kopernikus und Kepler ist für die organische Naturwissenschaft. Ich will diesen Satz aus dem Grunde auch heute noch aufrecht erhalten, weil ich glaube, daß folgendes durchaus gerechtfertigt ist.
Wodurch kommen wir denn schließlich zu einer wirklichen Naturanschauung auf dem Gebiete, auf dem gerade das 19. Jahrhundert so viel geleistet hat? Ich kann das, was ich meine, nicht anders begrenzen als durch diese historische Kategorie. Das, worin das 19. Jahrhundert in der Naturwissenschaft so viel geleistet hat, führt zuletzt fast überall zurück auf die Anwendung der mathematischen Methoden; denn auch da, wo man nicht rein mathematisch vorgeht, sondern nach anderen Kausalitätsprinzipien denkt, wo man Theorien ausgebildet hat, lag ja durchaus auch die mathematische Denkweise zugrunde.
Bezeichnend dafür ist etwa das Folgende: Wir haben gesehen, wie im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts gewisse Partien der Naturwissenschaft durchaus in einer gewissen rationalistischen Weise dadurch begründet werden sollten, daß man Mathematik in sie einführte. Bekannt ist der Kantsche Satz, daß eigentlich in jeder Wissenschaft nur so viel wirkliche Gewißheit sei, wie Mathematik in ihr zu finden sei. — Nun kann man selbstverständlich Mathematik nicht überall hintragen. Die Kausalitätserklärungen gehen weiter als die Möglichkeit mathematischer Begriffsbildungen. Aber das, was man so unternommen hat an Kausalitätserklärungen, das wurde doch weitgehend nach dem Muster mathematischer Begriffsbildungen unternommen. Und als sich dann Ernst Mach daranmachte, von seinem mehr phänomenologischen Standpunkte aus dieses Begriffssystem zu überschauen, mußte er auch auf den Begriff der Kausalität zurückblicken, wie er sich in der Naturwissenschaft im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts ausgebildet hat, und er wollte zu einem gewissen Inhalt für diesen Kausalitätsbegriff kommen. Zuletzt sagte er sich: Wenn ich eine Wirkung mit einer Ursache zusammendenke, so ist doch eigentlich nichts anderes darin enthalten als ein mathematischer Funktionsbegriff; zum Beispiel wenn ich sage: x ist gleich y‚ wobei ich unter x die Ursachen zusammenfasse und unter y die Wirkung, habe ich das Ganze auf diejenigen Begriffe zurückgeführt, die ich in der Mathematik habe, wenn ich den Funktionsbegriff bilde. Also man kann auch aus der Geschichte der Wissenschaften sehen, wie man den Mathematikbegriff in das ganze Gebiet der Naturwissenschaft hineingetragen hat.
Nun wird Goethe - und zwar mit einem gewissen Recht - gewöhnlich als ein Nicht-Mathematiker angesehen; er hat sich ja selbst als einen solchen bezeichnet. Aber wenn man so einfach Goethe als einen NichtMathematiker hinstellt, so führt das auch wieder zu Mißverständnissen — in dem Sinne etwa, daß Goethe nicht viel im einzelnen mathematisch habe leisten können, daß er nicht besonders geschickt gewesen sei, auch schon zu seiner Zeit durchaus bestehende mathematische Exempel zu lösen. Das muß natürlich durchaus zugegeben werden. Ich glaube auch nicht, daß Goethe bei seinem ganzen Wesen sonderlich viel Geduld gehabt hätte, sich auf die Lösung einzelner mathematischer Exempel einzulassen, wenn es mehr ins Algebraische hineingegangen wäre. Das muß schon zugegeben werden. Aber Goethe war in gewissem Sinne, so paradox es klingt, mehr ein mathematischer Kopf als mancher Mathematiker; denn er hatte eine feine Einsicht in die Natur des Mathematisierens, in die Natur des Bildens von mathematischen Begriffen, und er schätzte diese Art und Weise zu denken, die ganz in dem inneren Seelenprozeß auch mit dem Inhalt der Vorstellung bleibt, wenn sie Begriffe bildet.
Man überschaut im Mathematischen, wenn man Begriffe bildet, innerlich vollständig alles. Nehmen Sie als ein einfaches Beispiel in der euklidischen Geometrie den gewöhnlichen Beweis dafür, daß die drei Winkel eines Dreiecks zusammen 180 Grad betragen, wo man oben durch die Spitze des Dreiecks eine Parallele zur Grundlinie zieht, die dort auf diese Weise entstandenen Winkel betrachtet, die als Wechselwinkel gleich sind den beiden anderen Winkeln des Dreiecks - der dazwischen liegende bleibt sich ja gleich -, und wo man dann sehen kann, wie diese drei Winkel dort an der Spitze zusammen 180 Grad betragen, also in ihrer Summe den drei Winkeln des Dreiecks gleich sind. — Wenn man das überschaut, hat man einen mathematischen Beweis, aber man hat zu gleicher Zeit etwas, wobei man gar nicht abhängig ist von einer äußeren Anschauung, sondern durchaus die Dinge in innerlichem Konstruieren überschauen kann. Hat man dann ein äußeres Dreieck, so findet man, daß durch die äußeren Tatsachen verifiziert wird, was man vorher innerlich überschaut hat. Das ist in der ganzen Mathematik so. Es bleibt alles so, daß man nicht an die Sinnesanschauung heranzugehen braucht, um zu dem zu kommen, was man «Beweis» nennt, daß aber alles, was man innerlich gefunden hat, auch äußerlich Stück für Stück verifiziert werden kann.
Diese besondere Art des Mathematischen ist es ja, welche Goethe gerade als die eminent wissenschaftliche ansah, und insofern war er wirklich ein guter mathematischer Kopf. Das liegt zum Beispiel auch der Führung jenes berühmten Gespräches zugrunde, das Goethe und Schiller einmal in der Blütezeit ihrer Freundschaft geführt haben über die Methode der naturwissenschaftlichen Betrachtung. Sie waren beide bei einem Vortrage, den der Naturforscher Batsch in der Naturforschenden Gesellschaft in Jena gehalten hatte, und als sie fortgingen, sagte ja Schiller zu Goethe über das, was sie dort gehört hatten, das sei eine zerstückelte Art, die Naturerscheinungen zu betrachten, damit komme man zu nichts Ganzem. — Man kann sich denken, daß Batsch einfach die einzelnen Naturobjekte nebeneinander hingeordnet und es unterlassen hatte, wie es ja auch durchaus einem Naturforscher der damaligen Zeit geziemte, irgendetwas vorzuführen, was zu einer Gesamtanschauung in der Natur führen konnte. Schiller empfand dies unbefriedigend und sprach sich darüber bei Goethe aus. Und Goethe sagte, er verstehe es, eine gewisse Einheit, eine gewisse Ganzheit in eine solche Naturbetrachtung hineinzubringen. Und er fing an, mit wenigen Strichen - er erzählt es ja selbst - die «Urpflanze» aufzuzeichnen, wie sie zu denken ist, wie sie innerlich angeschaut werden kann, nicht, wie sie in dieser oder jener Pflanze zu Tage tritt, sondern wie sie innerlich angeschaut werden kann mit Wurzel, Stengel, Blättern, Blüte, Frucht.
Ich habe in meinen Einleitungen zu den «Naturwissenschaftlichen Schriften» Goethes in den 80er Jahren des vorigen Jahrhunderts versucht, das Bild, das damals Goethe auf das Papier vor Schiller hingeworfen hat, nachzuzeichnen. — Schiller sah sich das an und sagte dann aus seiner Denkweise heraus: Das ist keine Erfahrung, das ist eine Idee. — Schiller hatte eben gemeint: wenn man so etwas aufzeichnet, so hat man das aus sich heraus gesponnen; das ist als Idee, als Gedanke ganz gut, hat aber in der Wirklichkeit im Grunde genommen keine Quelle. Goethe verstand diese Denkweise eigentlich gar nicht, und zuletzt endete das Gespräch damit, daß Goethe erwiderte, gewissermaßen das Gespräch zusammenfassend: Wenn das so ist, dann sehe ich meine Ideen mit Augen.
Was meinte denn Goethe damit? Er meinte —- er hat es nicht so ausgesprochen, aber er meinte es: Wenn ich ein Dreieck hinzeichne, so hat es von selbst eine Winkelsumme von 180 Grad; und wenn ich noch so viele Dreiecke anschaue, das, was ich an diesem einen Dreieck innerlich konstruiert habe, das paßt auf alle Dreiecke; ich habe also etwas aus dem Innern heraus gewonnen, das nun in vollem Umfang auf das Erfahrene paßt. So wollte Goethe auch eine «Urpflanze» — gewissermaßen gemäß dem «Urdreieck» — zeichnen, und einen solchen Charakter sollte diese Urpflanze haben, daß man diesen bei jeder einzelnen Pflanze finden könne. Und so, wie die Winkelsumme jedes Dreiecks, wenn man das Urdreieck hat, 180 Grad beträgt, so sollte auch dieses ideelle Gebilde, die Urpflanze, in jeder einzelnen Pflanze wiedergefunden werden, wenn man die ganze Pflanzenreihe durchgeht.
In diesem Sinne wollte Goethe die ganze Wissenschaft gestalten. Im wesentlichen wollte er — er kam ja damit nicht weiter — die Wissenschaft des Organischen so gestalten und eine solche Denkweise einführen, wie sie sich für die Wissenschaft des Unorganischen als fruchtbar erwiesen hat. Man sieht das ganz besonders klar, wenn Goethe von Italien aus schreibt, wie er die Idee der Urpflanze immer weiter ausgebildet hat. Da sagt er ungefähr: Da, unter den Pflanzen in Süditalien und Sizilien in der Mannigfaltigkeit der Pflanzenwelt ist mir die Urpflanze ganz besonders aufgegangen, und es muß sich doch ein Gebilde finden lassen, das die Möglichkeit aller wirklichen Pflanzen in sich hat, ein Gebilde, das sich nach verschiedenen Seiten hin variieren kann; es nimmt dann diese oder jene, langgestreckte oder andere Blattform an, bildet bald die Blüte, bald die Frucht mehr aus und so weiter —- so wie ein Dreieck stumpfwinklig oder spitzwinklig sein kann. Ein Gebilde wollte Goethe finden, nach dessen Muster alle Pflanzen gebildet sind. Es ist ganz falsch, wenn dann später Schleiden meinte, Goethe habe mit der Urpflanze eine tatsächliche Pflanze gemeint. Das ist nicht so - so wie auch der Mathematiker, der vom Dreieck spricht, nicht irgendein bestimmtes Dreieck im Auge hat —, sondern Goethe meinte ein Gebilde, das innerlich erzeugt wird, das sich aber in der Außenwelt überall verifiziert findet.
So war Goethe im Grunde genommen ein durchaus mathematischer Kopf, viel mathematischer als etwa die, die die Astronomie ausbilden. Und das ist das Wesentliche. Das veranlaßte Goethe auch, in diesem Gespräch mit Schiller zu sagen: Dann sehe ich meine Ideen mit Augen. - Er sah sie mit Augen, weil er sie überall in den Phänomenen verfolgen konnte. Er begriff gar nicht, daß etwas nur eine «Idee» sein sollte, weil er sich im vollen Einklang fand mit der Erfahrung, wenn er Ideen bildete; geradeso, wie der Mathematiker sich im Einklang fühlt mit der Erfahrung, wenn er mathematische Ideen bildet. Das aber führte Goethe, ich möchte sagen, durch eine innere Konsequenz dazu, zur bloßen Phänomenologie zu kommen, das heißt, nichts hinter den Erscheinungen als solchen zu suchen, vor allen Dingen nicht eine rationalistische Atomwelt zu konstruieren.
Nun, damit betritt man ein Gebiet, auf dem sich viele — ich kann aber doch nur sagen — auf Mißverständnissen beruhende Kämpfe gegenüber mancher naturwissenschaftlich-philosophischen Anschauung entwickelten. Es handelt sich zunächst einfach darum, das, was sich den Sinnen in der äußeren Welt darbietet, was also in der Beobachtung und im Experiment gegeben ist, rein als Phänomen zu betrachten. Goethe und mit ihm die ganze naturwissenschaftliche Phänomenologie beschränkt sich darauf, nicht gleich von irgendeinem sinnlichen Phänomen zu einem dahinterstehenden Atomgeschehen zu gehen, sondern zunächst das sinnliche Phänomen und das einzelne Element der sinnlichen Tatsachen rein ins Auge zu fassen, sie also nicht auf ein Dahinterliegendes zu beziehen, sondern auf andere Elemente in der sinnlichen Erscheinungswelt, und den Zusammenhang in der sinnlichen Erscheinungswelt aufzusuchen.
Man kann sehr leicht — ich verstehe vollständig, woher die entsprechenden Mißverständnisse kommen - eine solche Phänomenologie sogar trostlos finden. Man könnte zum Beispiel sagen: Wenn man sich nun bloß beschränken will auf das Beschreiben der gegenseitigen Beziehungen der sinnlichen Phänomene und dann diejenigen Phänomene aufsucht, die am einfachsten sind, in denen sich möglichst überschaubares Geschehen abspielt — und die Goethe «Urphänomene» nennt —, so kommt man bei einem solchen Vorgehen nicht zu einer Anschauung über jene unendlich fruchtbaren Dinge, die zum Beispiel die moderne Chemie geliefert hat. Wie, so könnte man fragen, kann man denn eigentlich gegenüber den Atomgewichtsverhältnissen auskommen, ohne eine Anschauung über eine atomistische Welt? Nun, in einem solchen Falle möchte man aber doch die Gegenfrage stellen: Wenn man sich nun wirklich besinnt auf das, was da vorliegt, hat man es denn da zu tun mit einer Notwendigkeit, vom Phänomen abzugehen? Man hat es gar nicht damit zu tun. Man hat es auch bei den Atomgewichtsverhältnissen mit Phänomenen zu tun, nämlich mit Gewichtsverhältnissen. Aber man könnte auch fragen: Führt es denn weiter, wenn man nun diese durch Zahlen ausdrückbaren Atomgewichtsverhältnisse dadurch zu erklären versucht, daß man gewisse Molekularstrukturen aus den Atomgewichten auf rein denkerische, rationalistische Weise bildet? Man kann eben auch diese Frage aufwerfen. Kurz, worum es sich handelt, wenn die Goethesche Denkweise ausgebildet wird, das ist: stehenzubleiben innerhalb der Phänomene selbst. Ich möchte dafür einen trivialen Vergleich gebrauchen.
Nehmen wir an, jemand bekommt ein aufgeschriebenes Wort vor sein Auge. Was wird er tun? Nun, wenn er nie lesen gelernt hat, wird er davor stehen wie vor etwas Unerklärbarem. Hat er aber lesen gelernt, so wird er unbewußt die einzelnen Formen zusammenfügen; er wird den Wortsinn in der Seele erleben. Aber er wird ganz gewiß nicht von den Formen aus, zum Beispiel beim W, etwas zu erklären versuchen, indem er den Ausgang nähme von dem nach aufwärts gehenden Strich, dann überginge zu dem nach abwärts gehenden, um dadurch auf etwas diesem Buchstaben Zugrundeliegendes zu kommen. Nein, er wird lesen - und nicht durch Unterlegungen erklären wollen. So möchte auch die Phänomenologie «lesen». Sie möchte innerhalb des Zusammenhanges der Phänomene stehenbleiben und lesen lernen, und nicht, wenn ich einen Komplex von Phänomenen habe, von ihm aus zurückgehen auf Atomstrukturen.
Es handelt sich also darum, das Feld des Phänomenalen hinzunehmen und in seiner eigenen inneren Bedeutung lesen zu lernen. Dadurch wird man dann zu einer Naturwissenschaft kommen, welche in ihren Inhalten nichts Rationalistisches, hinter den Phänomenen Konstruiertes hat, sondern welche einfach in der Art und Weise, wie sie die Phänomene überschaut, gewisse gesetzmäßige Strukturen findet. Überall wird dieser Naturwissenschaft eingegliedert sein die Summe der Phänomene selbst. Man wird auf eine bestimmte Art über die Natur reden. In dieser Art zu reden werden die Naturgesetze enthalten sein, aber überall werden in den Ausdrucksformen schon die Phänomene selber liegen. Man wird also das bekommen, was ich nennen möchte: eine den Erscheinungen immanente Naturwissenschaft. Nach einer solchen strebte Goethe. Die Art und Weise, wie er das betrieb, muß unter den Fortschritten der neueren Zeit verändert werden, aber es ist doch so, daß das Grundprinzip festgehalten werden kann. Und wenn dieses Grundprinzip festgehalten wird, stellt sich für die menschliche Auffassungsweise der Natur ganz von selbst etwas heraus, das ich in der folgenden Weise charakterisieren möchte.
Es ist ja ganz selbstverständlich, daß wir als gegenwärtige Menschheit unsere naturwissenschaftlichen Begriffe zunächst an der unorganischen Natur gebildet haben. Das ist dadurch veranlaßt gewesen, daß die unorganischen Naturerscheinungen verhältnismäßig einfach sind; das war aber auch veranlaßt dadurch, daß ja, wenn man ins organische Reich hinaufsteigt, durchaus auch die im Leblosen wirkenden Agenzien fortdauern. Wenn man vom Mineralreich zum Pflanzenreich heraufsteigt, dann ist es ja nicht so, daß etwa die leblose Wirkungsweise bei der Pflanze aufhörte; sie wird nur eingefaßt in ein höheres Prinzip, aber sie dauert in der Pflanze fort. Wir tun recht, wenn wir die physischen und chemischen Prozesse in den Pflanzenorganismus hinein weiterverfolgen, und zwar nach denselben Gesichtspunkten, nach denen wir gewohnt sind, sie in der unorganischen Natur zu verfolgen. Wir müssen dann nur auch die Fähigkeit haben, in unseren Begriffssystemen überzugehen zu veränderten, zu metamorphosierten Begriffen. Wir müssen schon verfolgen, wie das Unorganische auch verwendet wird in der Pflanze und wie dieselben Prozesse, die sich in der leblosen Natur finden, auch in die Pflanze hineingehen. Aber dadurch wird die Versuchung hervorgerufen, daß man wissenschaftlich nur das verfolgt, was sich aus der mineralischen Welt hereinerstreckt in Pflanze und Tier und dabei einfach unberücksichtigt läßt, was dann in den höheren Reichen dazu auftritt. Diese Versuchung wurde durch einen besonderen Umstand gerade im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts noch außerordentlich größer. Das ist in folgender Weise geschehen.
Wenn man die leblose Natur betrachtet, fühlt man sich gewissermaßen innerlich tief befriedigt, weil man die Erscheinungen mit mathematischen Gedanken verfolgen kann. Und es ist sehr begreiflich, daß Du BoisReymond in einer so wortreichen und glänzenden Weise in seiner Rede «Über die Grenzen des Naturerkennens» die Laplacesche Weltanschauung, die er die «astronomische Auffassung» des ganzen natürlichen Weltendaseins nennt, gefeiert hat, möchte ich sagen. Nach dieser astronomischen Auffassung wird ja nicht nur der Sternenhimmel so angesehen, daß man seine einzelnen Phänomene mit mathematischen Gedanken zusammenfaßt und sie dann als ein Ganzes, soweit es geht, konstruiert, sondern man versucht, auch damit unterzutauchen in die Konstitution der Materie. Man versucht im Molekül ein kleines Weltsystem zu konstruieren, wo sich die Atome so bewegen und zueinander stehen wie die Sterne im Weltgebäude. Man konstruiert sich so im Kleinen kleinste Weltsysteme und hat die Befriedigung, daß man so im Kleinen dieselben Gesetzmäßigkeiten findet wie im Großen. So hat man in den einzelnen Atomen und Molekülen ein System sich bewegender Körper, wie man draußen im Weltgebäude das System der Fixsterne und Planeten hat. Das ist charakteristisch für die Art, wie man vor allem im 19. Jahrhundert gestrebt hat und wodurch, wie Du Bois-Reymond sagte, das Kausalitätsbedürfnis des Menschen sich befriedigt fühlt. Es ist das einfach entstanden aus dem Drang heraus, das mathematisch Fruchtbare in alle Naturerscheinungen hineinzutragen. Daraus entstand nun eben die Versuchung, bei diesem Mathematischen in der Betrachtung der Naturerscheinungen stehenzubleiben.
Es wird keinem einfallen, auch einem Anthroposophen nicht, wenn er nicht laienhaft über diese Dinge spricht, bestreiten zu wollen, daß dies alles seine Berechtigung hat, namentlich dann, wenn man innerhalb der Phänomene stehen bleibt und sich bemüht, die Einzelheiten, zum Beispiel der Astronomie, in diesem Sinne aufzufassen. Keinem wird es einfallen, dagegen einen Kampf zu führen. Aber im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts trat das ein, daß man bei dem, was die Welt darbietet, alles das übersah, was qualitativ ist, und nur das sah, was ja da ist und in allem Qualitativen drinnen ist: das, was durch die Mathematik zu erfassen ist. Da muß man unterscheiden: Man kann durchaus zugeben, daß diese mechanistische Welterklärung voll berechtigt ist; es ist gar nichts dagegen einzuwenden. Aber etwas anderes ist es, ob man sie auf bestimmten Gebieten als vollberechtigt erklärt oder ob man sie nun als das einzige mögliche Begriffssystem hingestellt will und mit diesem Begriffssystem schon alles in der Welt für erklärt halten will.
Hier liegt der Differenzpunkt. Es wird durch den Anthroposophen nicht im geringsten das bestritten, was seine Berechtigung hat. Die Anthroposophie kämpft nämlich gar nicht gegen die anderen, und es ist interessant, bei Diskussionen zu verfolgen, wie Anthroposophie eigentlich alles innerhalb der berechtigten Grenzen zugibt. Es fällt den Anthroposophen gar nicht ein, das, was durch die Naturwissenschaft geltend gemacht wird, irgendwie zu bestreiten. Sondern es handelt sich darum, ob es berechtigt ist, das ganze Gebiet der Phänomene mit der mathematisch-kausalen Denkweise zu umfassen, oder ob es berechtigt ist, aus der Summe der Erscheinungen dasjenige herauszunehmen, was mathematisch-kausal eine reine Abstraktion ist, und es hinzustellen als einen «erdachten» Welteninhalt, wie es zum Beispiel der frühere Atomismus getan hat. Heute ist der Atomismus bis zu einem gewissen Grade schon phänomenologisch geworden, und bis zu diesem Grade geht Anthroposophie ganz gewiß mit. Aber es handelt sich darum, daß heute eben noch etwas hereinspukt von dem im 19. Jahrhundert so ungoetheschen Atomismus, der sich nicht beschränkte auf die Phänomene, sondern der ein reines Begriffssystem hinter den Phänomenen konstruierte. Und wenn man sich nicht klar darüber ist, daß man es doch nur mit einem Begriffssystem zu tun hat, das die Welt hinter den Erscheinungen sucht, sondern sich der Anschauung hingibt, man habe mit diesem Begriffssystem ein Reales ergriffen, so wird man durch dieses Begriffssystem gewissermaßen festgenagelt. Denn es ist die Eigentümlichkeit solcher Begriffssysteme, daß sie den Menschen festnageln. Er wird durch sie zum Dogmatiker, und dann sagt er: Da gibt es Leute, die wollen das Organische mit ganz anderen Begriffen erklären, die sie von ganz woanders her haben, aber das gibt es nicht; wir haben solche Begriffssysteme ausgebildet, die die Welt hinter den Erscheinungen umfassen, und die ist die einzige Welt und die muß auch das einzig Wirksame in bezug auf das Organische sein. — Aber auf diese Weise wird in die Betrachtung des Organischen das hineingetragen, was man für die Erscheinungen der unorganischen Natur ausgebildet hat; man sieht das Organische als auf dieselbe Art gebildet an wie die unorganische Natur.
Hier muß Klarheit geschaffen werden. Ohne diese Klarheit kann man niemals eine wirkliche Diskussionsgrundlage schaffen. Anthroposophie will durchaus nicht in dilettantischer Weise gegen berechtigte Methoden sündigen; sie will nicht sündigen gegen das Berechtigte des Atomismus, sondern sie will die Bahn frei haben für das Bilden von Gedankensystemen, wie sie früher für das Anorganische gebildet wurden und jetzt für andere Gebiete der Natur gebildet werden müssen. Das wird geschehen, wenn man sich sagt: In den Phänomenen will ich nur «lesen»; das heißt, das, was ich zuletzt über den Inhalt der Naturgesetze bekomme, liegt innerhalb der Phänomene selber - geradeso wie beim Lesen eines Wortes der Sinn in den Buchstaben selber liegt. Wenn ich recht liebevoll innerhalb der Phänomene stehenbleibe und nicht darauf aus bin, die Wirklichkeit irgendwie mit einem hypothetischen Gedankensystem zu durchsetzen, dann werde ich in meinem wissenschaftlichen Sinne frei bleiben für eine Weiterentwicklung der Begriffe. Und dieses Freibleiben ist das, was wir ausbilden müssen.
Wir dürfen uns nicht durch ein Begriffssystem, das wir für ein bestimmtes Naturgebiet vollberechtigt ausgebildet haben, festnageln lassen, es auf andere Gebiete anzuwenden. Bilden wir eine bloße Phänomenologie aus, was selbstverständlich nur dadurch geschehen kann, daß man die geschauten oder durch das Experiment dargestellten Phänomene mit Gedanken durchsetzt und verbindet und so zu Naturgesetzen kommt, bleibt man also innerhalb der Phänomene stehen, so bekommt man ein ganz anderes Verhältnis zum Gedanken selbst; dann bekommt man ein Erlebnis davon, wie in den Phänomenen selbst schon die Naturgesetze vorhanden sind, die dann in unseren Gedanken auftreten. Geben wir uns so diesen Gedanken hin, dann haben wir gar keine Berechtigung mehr, sofern wir innerhalb der Naturerscheinungen stehenbleiben, von einem Gegensatz zwischen dem subjektiven Gedanken und dem objektiven Naturgesetz zu sprechen. Wir tauchen einfach in die Phänomene unter und haben dann in den Inhalten der Naturgesetze einen Gedankeninhalt gegeben, den uns die Dinge selber geben. Deshalb sagte Goethe ganz naiv: Dann sehe ich meine Ideen - die eigentlich Naturgesetze waren — in der Natur mit Augen.
Wenn man sich in dieser Weise zu den Phänomenen der unorganischen Natur stellt, dann ist es möglich, dies in die Organik hinüberzutragen, auch im wissenschaftlichen Sinne. Wenn man dann sieht, daß ein Pferd braun oder ein Schimmel weiß ist, wird man das nicht auf unorganische Farben zurückführen, sondern es nur auf etwas beziehen, was als ein geistig-seelisch Lebendiges in einem Organismus selber lebt. Man wird verstehen lernen aus der erkrafteten inneren Organisation heraus, daß sich das Tier wie auch die Pflanze selbst die Farbe gibt. Selbstverständlich muß man dabei alle Einzelheiten, zum Beispiel das Funktionieren des Stoffwechsels, innerlich durchschauen. Aber man trägt dann nicht in die Organik das herauf, was man in der Unorganik gefunden hat. Man nagelt sich nicht fest auf ein bestimmtes Gedankensystem, und man wird nicht dieselbe Gesinnung, die man auf einem Gebiete gehabt hat, in die anderen Gebiete herauftragen. Man bleibt ein «mathematischer Kopf», mehr als die, welche die Begriffe nicht metamorphosieren wollen ins Qualitative hinein. So kommt man dazu, für die höheren Gebiete des Naturdaseins das innere Anschauen ebenso gelten zu lassen, wie man das innere Anschauen gelten läßt für leblose mathematische Gebilde.
Das ist das, was ich hier nur kurz skizzieren kann, was aber, wenn es weiter ausgebildet wird, zeigt, daß die wissenschaftliche Seite der Anthroposophie durchaus das kann, was Goethe nannte: Rechenschaft ablegen vor jedem, auch vor dem strengsten Mathematiker. Denn das wollte Goethe mit der Ausbildung seiner Idee von der Urpflanze, zu der er gekommen ist, und mit der Idee des Urtieres, wozu er nicht gekommen ist. Und das will Anthroposophie: Hervorgehen lassen aus der Goetheschen Weltanschauung das, was diese in bezug auf die Erscheinungen der Natur konnte und vom Erfassen des Lebendigen in der Imagination aufsteigen zu dem Typus der Pflanze und zu dem Typus des Tieres. Ich habe schon in den 80er Jahren des vorigen Jahrhunderts gezeigt, daß wir für die organische Natur die aus dem Unorganischen genommenen Begriffe metamorphosieren müssen. Davon werde ich in den nächsten Tagen noch weiter zu sprechen haben. Dadurch kommt man aber dazu, in der Organik dasjenige zu sehen, was das eigentliche Wirkungsprinzip, Gestaltungsprinzip ist. Und da möchte ich an den Schluß dieser Betrachtungen etwas hinstellen, was in den nächsten Tagen noch weitere Betrachtung erfahren wird, und was zeigen soll, wie diese materialistische Phase naturwissenschaftlicher Entwicklung von der Anthroposophie nicht unterschätzt wird.
Die Anthroposophie muß in dieser materialistischen Phase der Naturwissenschaft ein wichtiges Übergangsprinzip sehen, eine Erziehungsmethode, damit man einmal gelernt hat, sich rein der äußeren Sinnes-Empirie hinzugeben. Das war außerordentlich erzieherisch für die Entwicklung der Menschheit, und nur wenn man diese Erziehung genossen hat, kann man auch dazu kommen, gewisse Dinge mit voller Klarheit zu übersehen. Denn wer nun, ausgerüstet mit solchem Wissenschaftssinn die äußere materielle Welt betrachtet, der schaut, wie sich diese materielle Welt innerlich im Menschen «spiegelt», wenn ich mich dieses Ausdrucks bedienen darf.
Die Welt, wie wir sie im Innern erleben, ist mehr oder weniger eine Abstraktion, ein von Empfindungen und Willensimpulsen durchzogenes inneres Bild dessen, was die äußere materielle Welt ist; so daß wir, wenn wir vom Verfolgen der materiellen Außenwelt zum Geistig-Seelischen übergehen, zu einem bloß Bildhaften kommen. Halten wir das ganz streng fest: außen die Summe der materiellen Erscheinungen, die wir im phänomenologischen Sinne anschauen — im Innern das Seelisch-Geistige, mit einem gewissen abstrakten Charakter, mit einem Bildcharakter. Tritt man aber mit anthroposophischer Anschauung in die Betrachtung dessen ein, was der äußeren materiellen Welt geistig zugrunde liegt, in den Geist, der da wirkt in den Bewegungen der Sterne, in dem Werden der Mineralien, der Pflanzen und der Tiere, tritt man ein in das Geistige des Werdens der Außenwelt, lernt man diese durch Imagination, Inspiration und Intuition kennen, dann gibt uns auch das ein inneres Spiegelbild des Menschen. Aber was ist dieses innere Spiegelbild des Menschen? Das sind unsere materiellen Organe. Sie antworten mir jetzt auf das, was ich vorher kennengelernt habe als die Natur der Sonne, als die Natur des Mondes, der Mineralien, der Pflanzen, der Tiere und so weiter; darauf antworten mir die inneren Organe. Ich lerne das Eigene des menschlichen Organismus nur kennen, wenn ich das Äußere der Welt kennenlerne. Die materielle Welt außen spiegelt sich innen geistig-seelisch; die geistig-seelische Welt außen spiegelt sich innen in den Formen von Lunge, Leber, Herz und so weiter. Die inneren Organe sind, wenn man sie anschaut, so in einem Verhältnis zur geistigen Außenwelt, wie unsere Gedanken und Empfindungen zur materiellen Außenwelt in einem Verhältnis sind.
Das zeigt uns, wie die Anthroposophie durchaus nicht in einem schwärmerischen Sinne den Materialismus ablehnen will. Sehen Sie sich den ganzen Umfang der Naturwissenschaft an: Tausende werden unbefriedigt sein über das, was da aus der Naturwissenschaft mit den gewöhnlichen Methoden gewonnen wird. Die Anthroposophie wird durch ihre Methoden gerade über das Materielle der Welt eine Anschauung gewinnen, die nicht unbefriedigt lassen wird. Sie anerkennt das Materielle in der eigenen inneren Organisation und in dem Phänomenologischen der Umwelt; aber sie muß zu gleicher Zeit erkennen, daß diese innere Organisation ein Ergebnis, eine Konsequenz von kosmischem Geistig-Seelischen ist. Sie will daher auch das ergänzen, was in der Astronomie, in der Astrophysik, Physik oder Chemie nur mathematisch geleistet wird. Das wird sie in einer organischen Kosmologie und so weiter erkunden und dadurch auch zu einem Verständnis des materiellen Menschen vordringen. Darin liegen dann die Grundlagen für dasjenige, was Anthroposophie für die Medizin, die Biologie und so weiter geben will.
So glaube ich durch diese Andeutungen, die ich jetzt nur ganz skizzenhaft geben konnte, darauf hingedeutet zu haben, wie Anthroposophie, wenn man sie richtig erfaßt, nicht so angesehen werden kann, als ob sie von sich aus sich in einen Kampf stellen wolle gegen die gegenwärtige Wissenschaft; sondern die Dinge liegen so, daß die gegenwärtigen Vertreter der Wissenschaft noch nicht die Brücke zur Anthroposophie geschlagen haben, um zu sehen, wie die Anthroposophie streng wissenschaftlich auch gegenüber den Naturerscheinungen sein will.
1. Anthroposophy and Natural Science
Dear attendees! It was the wish of the committee for this university week that I should begin each day with a few remarks on what is to be discussed scientifically during the course of the day. This was probably arranged based on the view that anthroposophy should enrich the individual branches of science and life; and it is only in this sense, as introductory remarks to the day's proceedings, that I ask you to understand these first lectures. What has always surprised me most in the reception of the anthroposophical method of research is the resistance that is shown to anthroposophy, especially from the philosophical-scientific side — I am not saying purely from the natural sciences — because it is believed that anthroposophy stands in unjustified opposition to the methods of natural science, which have developed so fruitfully over the last few centuries, especially in the 19th century. And it seems to me that among all the things that are most difficult for our contemporaries to understand about anthroposophy is that anthroposophy wants nothing more than to further develop the methods that have proven so fruitful in natural science in a corresponding way. However, if one wants to understand anthroposophy from this perspective, one must understand the idea of further development to mean something other than what is commonly referred to today as the further development of theoretical views.
For most people today, further development of theoretical views means that the particular way of connecting thoughts — in particular, if I may express it this way, the field of thought — remains the same, even if the relevant systems of thought are extended to other areas of world phenomena. For example, when engaging in scientific activity, one is confronted with inanimate, inorganic nature and finds it necessary to take as a basis certain connections of ideas, a certain field of ideas, that is, a sum of interconnected ideas, in order to arrive at a theory of inorganic, inanimate natural phenomena. One then wants to extend this system of thought as it is when striving to understand another area of the world, for example, the area of organic natural phenomena. So, with the causal orientation that proves so fruitful in the inorganic realm, one simply wants to move over into the realm of living beings and saturate and explain them with the same concepts, thus, in a sense, conceptually making the realm of living beings into a system of inorganic causalities, just as one is compelled to to do in relation to inanimate, inorganic nature. So what has been acquired as a system of thought from inanimate nature is simply transferred to organic nature. And that is what is commonly understood today as the “extension” of thoughts and theories.
However, this stands in complete contrast to what anthroposophy must understand by such an extension of ideas. It must carry out the concept of a certain independent growth, a metamorphosis of the idea, when moving from one area of world phenomena to another, so that one cannot simply “logically transfer” what one has learned from inanimate natural phenomena to animate natural phenomena. Just as, comparatively speaking, things themselves change greatly in the living world when they grow, when they undergo metamorphoses, and how they are then often unrecognizable in the form they have taken on, so too must thoughts take on different forms when they enter another realm. But what remains the same across all fields and what then gives the entire scientific worldview a monistic character is the way in which one relates internally to what can be called “scientific certainty,” which provides the basis for scientific conviction. Those who are able to examine why the concepts that we are accustomed to using in inanimate nature do not satisfy the human need for causality — if I may use Du Bois-Reymond's expression — whoever truly comes to know this inwardly can then transfer it to the way in which one is convinced in the world of living beings by means of completely different concepts, which are, however, only metamorphoses of the earlier concepts. This way in which human beings position themselves within the scientific enterprise is thoroughly monistic throughout the entire scientific worldview. This is something that is usually misunderstood and leads to people attributing a dualistic rather than a monistic character to the anthroposophical scientific worldview.
The second thing that very often leads to misunderstandings is the phenomenalism to which anthroposophy must devote itself, particularly with regard to natural science. We have seen, precisely in the most fruitful age of scientific development, around the time when the eminent natural scientist Virchow gave his speech on the replacement of the philosophical worldview by the scientific one, how everything that was gained at that time with a certain historical justification in fruitful concepts about the inorganic led to the establishment of a certain rationalism in natural science. And the age that, on the one hand, worked strictly toward empiricism in relation to the external world of facts, nevertheless indulged in a very far-reaching rationalism when it came to explaining the empirically explored facts of nature.
In contrast to this, anthroposophy now stands on the standpoint that arises—at least for me, if I may make this personal remark—from Goethe's view of nature. Anthroposophy is based on a phenomenological view of nature. In a certain sense, this phenomenology has been reestablished in modern times by Ernst Mach, and as he establishes it, it seems to contain fruitful points of view, provided one respects its limitations. For Goethe, it is simply a matter of what lies in his words: the world of phenomena itself is already sufficient theory; there is no need to proceed to artificial theories. The blue of the sky is a phenomenon within which one should remain and not allow oneself to seek, in a rationalistic manner, purely through thought, hypothetical, assumed explanations behind the phenomena. Goethe arrived at what he called the “primordial phenomenon” in this way. Even though, as is only natural, much of what Goethe wanted to achieve in natural science was superseded in the course of the 19th century, which was so fruitful for natural science, one can still say that the methodology, the way of thinking itself, which Goethe brought to natural science, is not only not outdated today, but seems to me not to have been thoroughly understood at all.
I am well aware that in the 19th century, many—one might say almost all—of the details of Goethe's descriptions of scientific matters became outdated. Nevertheless, I would still like to uphold the statement I made in the 1880s regarding Goethe's view of nature: that Goethe is the Copernicus and Kepler of organic natural science. I want to uphold this statement today because I believe that the following is entirely justified.
How, then, do we ultimately arrive at a true view of nature in the field in which the 19th century achieved so much? I can only define what I mean by this historical category. The achievements of the 19th century in natural science can ultimately be traced back almost everywhere to the application of mathematical methods; for even where one does not proceed purely mathematically, but thinks according to other principles of causality, where theories have been developed, the mathematical way of thinking was still the basis.
The following is a good example of this: we have seen how, in the course of the 19th century, certain areas of natural science were to be justified in a certain rationalistic way by introducing mathematics into them. Kant's statement that in every science there is only as much real certainty as can be found in mathematics is well known. — Now, of course, mathematics cannot be applied everywhere. Explanations of causality go beyond the possibilities of mathematical conceptualization. But what has been attempted in terms of explanations of causality has largely been done according to the pattern of mathematical conceptualization. And when Ernst Mach set out to review this conceptual system from his more phenomenological point of view, he also had to look back at the concept of causality as it had developed in natural science during the 19th century, and he wanted to arrive at a certain content for this concept of causality. Finally, he said to himself: When I think of an effect together with a cause, there is actually nothing else involved than a mathematical concept of function; for example, when I say: x is equal to y, whereby I summarize the causes under x and the effect under y, I have reduced the whole to those concepts that I have in mathematics when I form the concept of function. So we can also see from the history of science how the mathematical concept has been carried over into the entire field of natural science.
Now Goethe is usually regarded—and with some justification—as a non-mathematician; he himself described himself as such. But if one simply dismisses Goethe as a non-mathematician, this again leads to misunderstandings—in the sense that Goethe was not able to achieve much in mathematics, that he was not particularly skilled at solving mathematical problems that already existed in his time. This must, of course, be admitted. I also do not believe that Goethe, given his whole nature, would have had much patience to engage in solving individual mathematical problems if they had been more algebraic in nature. This must be admitted. But Goethe was, in a certain sense, as paradoxical as it may sound, more of a mathematical mind than many mathematicians, because he had a keen insight into the nature of mathematizing, into the nature of forming mathematical concepts, and he appreciated this way of thinking, which remains entirely within the inner soul process, even with the content of the idea, when it forms concepts.
In mathematics, when you form concepts, you internally survey everything completely. Take as a simple example in Euclidean geometry the common proof that the three angles of a triangle add up to 180 degrees, where you draw a parallel line to the base through the apex of the triangle and consider the angles formed in this way, which as alternate angles are equal to the other two angles of the triangle — the one in between remains the same — and where one can then see how these three angles together at the apex add up to 180 degrees, i.e., their sum is equal to the three angles of the triangle. — Once you have understood this, you have a mathematical proof, but at the same time you have something that does not depend on external observation, but rather allows you to understand things through internal construction. If you then have an external triangle, you find that the external facts verify what you have previously understood internally. This is the case in all of mathematics. The fact remains that one does not need to resort to sensory perception in order to arrive at what one calls “proof,” but that everything one has found internally can also be verified externally, piece by piece.
It was this particular type of mathematics that Goethe regarded as eminently scientific, and in this respect he was truly a good mathematical mind. This also underlies, for example, the famous conversation that Goethe and Schiller once had in the heyday of their friendship about the method of scientific observation. They had both attended a lecture given by the natural scientist Batsch at the Natural History Society in Jena, and as they were leaving, Schiller said to Goethe that what they had heard there was a fragmented way of observing natural phenomena, which would lead to nothing complete. One can imagine that Batsch had simply arranged the individual natural objects side by side and, as was customary for a naturalist of that time, had refrained from presenting anything that could lead to a comprehensive view of nature. Schiller found this unsatisfactory and expressed his opinion to Goethe. And Goethe said that he understood how to bring a certain unity, a certain wholeness, into such an observation of nature. And he began, with a few strokes—he tells the story himself—to sketch the “primordial plant” as it can be conceived, as it can be viewed internally, not as it appears in this or that plant, but as it can be viewed internally with roots, stems, leaves, flowers, and fruit.
In my introductions to Goethe's “Scientific Writings” in the 1980s, I attempted to trace the image that Goethe had thrown down on paper in front of Schiller at that time. Schiller looked at it and then said, based on his way of thinking: That is not experience, that is an idea. — Schiller had just meant that when you draw something like that, you have spun it out of yourself; it is quite good as an idea, as a thought, but in reality it has no source. Goethe did not really understand this way of thinking, and in the end the conversation ended with Goethe replying, summarizing the conversation in a sense: If that is the case, then I see my ideas with my eyes.
What did Goethe mean by that? He meant—he didn't say it in so many words, but he meant it: When I draw a triangle, it automatically has an angle sum of 180 degrees; and no matter how many triangles I look at, what I have constructed internally in this one triangle fits all triangles; so I have gained something from within that now fits the experience in its entirety. Goethe also wanted to draw a “primordial plant” — in a sense, according to the “primordial triangle” — and this primordial plant should have such a character that it could be found in every single plant. And just as the sum of the angles of every triangle, if you have the primordial triangle, is 180 degrees, so too should this ideal construct, the primordial plant, be found in every single plant when you go through the entire plant series.
It was in this sense that Goethe wanted to shape the whole of science. Essentially, he wanted — although he did not get very far with this — to shape the science of the organic world and introduce a way of thinking that had proved fruitful for the science of the inorganic world. This can be seen particularly clearly when Goethe writes from Italy about how he has continued to develop the idea of the archetypal plant. He says something like this: There, among the plants of southern Italy and Sicily, in the diversity of the plant world, the archetypal plant became particularly clear to me, and it must be possible to find a structure that has the potential for all real plants, a structure that can vary in different ways; it then takes on this or that elongated or other leaf shape, soon forming the flower, soon the fruit, and so on—just as a triangle can be obtuse-angled or acute-angled. Goethe wanted to find a structure according to whose pattern all plants are formed. It is quite wrong when Schleiden later claimed that Goethe meant an actual plant with the archetypal plant. This is not the case—just as a mathematician who speaks of a triangle does not have any particular triangle in mind—but Goethe meant a structure that is generated internally but can be verified everywhere in the outside world.
So Goethe was, in essence, a thoroughly mathematical mind, much more mathematical than those who study astronomy, for example. And that is the essential point. This also prompted Goethe to say in his conversation with Schiller: Then I see my ideas with my eyes. He saw them with his eyes because he could follow them everywhere in phenomena. He did not understand that something should be only an “idea” because he found himself in complete harmony with experience when he formed ideas; just as the mathematician feels in harmony with experience when he forms mathematical ideas. But this led Goethe, I would say, through an inner consistency, to arrive at mere phenomenology, that is, to seek nothing behind phenomena as such, and above all not to construct a rationalistic atomic world.
Now, this leads us into a realm in which many—I can only say—misunderstandings have given rise to conflicts with certain scientific and philosophical views. The first step is simply to regard what presents itself to the senses in the external world, that is, what is given in observation and experiment, purely as phenomena. Goethe, and with him the whole of scientific phenomenology, limits himself to not immediately moving from any sensory phenomenon to the atomic processes behind it, but first to purely observing the sensory phenomenon and the individual elements of sensory facts, thus not relating them to something behind them, but to other elements in the sensory world of appearances, and to seek the connection in the sensory world of phenomena.
It is very easy — I understand completely where the corresponding misunderstandings come from — to find such phenomenology even bleak. One could say, for example, that if one wants to limit oneself to describing the mutual relationships of sensory phenomena and then seeks out those phenomena that are simplest, in which events are as manageable as possible — and which Goethe calls “primordial phenomena” — then such an approach does not lead to an understanding of those infinitely fruitful things that modern chemistry, for example, has delivered. How, one might ask, can one actually cope with atomic weight ratios without an understanding of an atomistic world? Well, in such a case, one might ask the counter-question: if one really reflects on what is at hand, is it then necessary to depart from the phenomenon? Not at all. Even in the case of atomic weight ratios, one is dealing with phenomena, namely weight ratios. But one could also ask: Does it help to try to explain these atomic weight ratios, which can be expressed in numbers, by forming certain molecular structures from the atomic weights in a purely intellectual, rationalistic way? One can also raise this question. In short, what is at stake when Goethe's way of thinking is developed is this: to remain within the phenomena themselves. I would like to use a trivial comparison to illustrate this.
Let us assume that someone is presented with a written word. What will they do? Well, if they have never learned to read, they will stand before it as before something inexplicable. But if they have learned to read, they will unconsciously put the individual forms together; they will experience the meaning of the word in their soul. But he will certainly not try to explain anything based on the shapes, for example in the case of the letter W, by starting with the upward stroke and then moving on to the downward stroke in order to arrive at something underlying this letter. No, he will read — and not try to explain by means of underlying structures. Phenomenology also wants to “read” in this way. It wants to remain within the context of phenomena and learn to read, and not, when I have a complex of phenomena, go back from it to atomic structures.
It is therefore a matter of accepting the field of the phenomenal and learning to read it in its own inner meaning. This will then lead to a natural science which has nothing rationalistic in its content, nothing constructed behind the phenomena, but which simply finds certain lawful structures in the way it surveys the phenomena. This natural science will incorporate the sum of phenomena themselves everywhere. We will talk about nature in a certain way. This way of talking will contain the laws of nature, but the phenomena themselves will already be present everywhere in the forms of expression. We will thus obtain what I would like to call a natural science immanent in phenomena. Goethe strove for such a science. The way in which he pursued this must be changed in line with the advances of modern times, but the basic principle can still be retained. And if this basic principle is retained, something emerges quite naturally for the human understanding of nature, which I would like to characterize in the following way.
It is quite natural that we, as contemporary human beings, have initially formed our scientific concepts based on inorganic nature. This was prompted by the fact that inorganic natural phenomena are relatively simple; but it was also prompted by the fact that, when one ascends to the organic realm, the agents acting in the inanimate world continue to exist. When one ascends from the mineral kingdom to the plant kingdom, it is not the case that the inanimate mode of action ceases in the plant; it is only enclosed in a higher principle, but it continues in the plant. We are right to continue to follow the physical and chemical processes in the plant organism according to the same principles we are accustomed to following them in inorganic nature. We must then also have the ability to transition to changed, metamorphosed concepts in our conceptual systems. We must follow how the inorganic is also used in the plant and how the same processes that are found in inanimate nature also enter into the plant. But this gives rise to the temptation to follow scientifically only what extends from the mineral world into plants and animals, while simply ignoring what then occurs in the higher kingdoms. This temptation became even greater in the course of the 19th century due to a special circumstance. This happened in the following way.
When one observes inanimate nature, one feels, in a sense, deeply satisfied because one can follow the phenomena with mathematical thoughts. And it is very understandable that Du Bois-Reymond celebrated Laplace's worldview, which he calls the “astronomical conception” of the entire natural world, in such a verbose and brilliant manner in his speech “On the Limits of Natural Knowledge,” I would say. According to this astronomical conception, not only is the starry sky viewed in such a way that its individual phenomena are summarized with mathematical ideas and then constructed as a whole, as far as possible, but one also attempts to delve into the constitution of matter. One attempts to construct a small world system within the molecule, where the atoms move and relate to each other like the stars in the structure of the universe. In this way, one constructs tiny world systems on a small scale and has the satisfaction of finding the same laws on a small scale as on a large scale. Thus, in the individual atoms and molecules, one has a system of moving bodies, just as one has the system of fixed stars and planets outside in the structure of the universe. This is characteristic of the way in which people strove, especially in the 19th century, and which, as Du Bois-Reymond said, satisfies man's need for causality. It simply arose from the urge to apply mathematical fruitfulness to all natural phenomena. This gave rise to the temptation to remain with this mathematical approach in the observation of natural phenomena.
No one, not even an anthroposophist, unless he is speaking about these things in a layman's way, would think of disputing that all this is justified, especially if one remains within the phenomena and endeavors to understand the details, for example of astronomy, in this sense. No one would think of fighting against it. But in the course of the 19th century, what happened was that people overlooked everything that is qualitative in what the world presents and saw only what is there and is contained in everything qualitative: that which can be grasped by mathematics. Here a distinction must be made: one can certainly admit that this mechanistic explanation of the world is fully justified; there is nothing wrong with it. But it is another matter whether one declares it to be fully justified in certain areas or whether one now wants to present it as the only possible conceptual system and consider everything in the world to be explained by this conceptual system.
This is where the difference lies. Anthroposophists do not dispute in the slightest what is justified. Anthroposophy does not fight against others, and it is interesting to follow discussions to see how anthroposophy actually admits everything within justified limits. It does not occur to anthroposophists to dispute what is asserted by natural science in any way. Rather, the question is whether it is justified to encompass the entire field of phenomena with mathematical-causal thinking, or whether it is justified to take from the sum of phenomena that which is mathematically-causally a pure abstraction and present it as an “imagined” world content, as, for example, early atomism did. Today, atomism has already become phenomenological to a certain extent, and anthroposophy certainly goes along with this to that extent. But the point is that today there is still something haunting us from the atomism of the 19th century, which was so un-Goethean and did not limit itself to phenomena, but constructed a pure conceptual system behind the phenomena. And if one is not clear that one is only dealing with a conceptual system that seeks the world behind appearances, but instead succumbs to the view that one has grasped something real with this conceptual system, then one becomes, in a sense, pinned down by this conceptual system. For it is the peculiarity of such conceptual systems that they pin people down. They turn people into dogmatists, and then they say: There are people who want to explain the organic with completely different concepts, which they have taken from somewhere else entirely, but that does not exist; we have developed conceptual systems that encompass the world behind appearances, and that is the only world, and it must also be the only effective one in relation to the organic. — But in this way, what has been developed for the phenomena of inorganic nature is carried over into the consideration of the organic; the organic is seen as being formed in the same way as inorganic nature.
Clarity must be created here. Without this clarity, it is impossible to establish a real basis for discussion. Anthroposophy does not want to sin in a dilettantish way against justified methods; it does not want to sin against the justification of atomism, but it wants to have the way clear for the formation of systems of thought, as they were formerly formed for the inorganic and now must be formed for other areas of nature. This will happen when we say to ourselves: I only want to “read” the phenomena; that is, what I ultimately learn about the content of the laws of nature lies within the phenomena themselves — just as when reading a word, the meaning lies in the letters themselves. If I remain within the phenomena with a loving attitude and am not intent on imposing a hypothetical system of thought on reality in some way, then I will remain free in my scientific sense to further develop the concepts. And this freedom is what we must cultivate.
We must not allow ourselves to be pinned down by a system of concepts that we have developed with full justification for a particular area of nature and apply it to other areas. If we develop a mere phenomenology, which of course can only happen by permeating and connecting the phenomena observed or represented by experiment with thoughts and thus arriving at natural laws, then we remain within the phenomena and gain a completely different relationship to the thought itself; then we gain an experience of how the laws of nature are already present in the phenomena themselves, which then appear in our thoughts. If we surrender ourselves to these thoughts, then we no longer have any justification, as long as we remain within the natural phenomena, to speak of a contradiction between subjective thought and objective natural law. We simply immerse ourselves in the phenomena and then, in the content of the laws of nature, we have given a thought content that the things themselves give us. That is why Goethe said quite naively: Then I see my ideas — which were actually laws of nature — in nature with my eyes.
If one approaches the phenomena of inorganic nature in this way, then it is possible to transfer this to the organic, even in a scientific sense. When one then sees that a horse is brown or a gray horse is white, one will not attribute this to inorganic colors, but will relate it only to something that lives as a spiritual-soul life in an organism itself. One will learn to understand from the inner organization that the animal, like the plant, gives itself its color. Of course, one must understand all the details, for example, the functioning of the metabolism. But then one does not carry over into the organic realm what one has found in the inorganic realm. One does not nail oneself down to a particular system of thought, and one does not carry over the same attitude that one has had in one area to other areas. One remains a “mathematical mind,” more so than those who do not want to metamorphose concepts into the qualitative. In this way, one comes to apply inner contemplation to the higher realms of natural existence in the same way that one applies inner contemplation to inanimate mathematical structures.
This is what I can only briefly outline here, but which, when further developed, shows that the scientific side of anthroposophy is quite capable of what Goethe called: give an account to everyone, even the strictest mathematician. For that is what Goethe wanted with the development of his idea of the primordial plant, which he arrived at, and with the idea of the primordial animal, which he did not arrive at. And that is what anthroposophy wants: to bring forth from Goethe's worldview what it was capable of in relation to the phenomena of nature, and to ascend from the grasping of the living in the imagination to the type of the plant and the type of the animal. I already showed in the 1880s that we must metamorphose the concepts taken from the inorganic for the organic nature. I will have more to say about this in the coming days. This leads us to see in the organic realm that which is the actual principle of action, the principle of formation. And here I would like to conclude these reflections with something that will be considered further in the coming days, and which is intended to show how this materialistic phase of scientific development is not underestimated by anthroposophy.
Anthroposophy must see this materialistic phase of natural science as an important transitional principle, a method of education, so that we can learn to devote ourselves purely to external sensory empiricism. This has been extremely educational for the development of humanity, and only when one has enjoyed this education can one come to see certain things with complete clarity. For those who, equipped with such a scientific mind, now look at the outer material world, see how this material world is “reflected” inwardly in human beings, if I may use this expression.
The world as we experience it inwardly is more or less an abstraction, an inner image of what the outer material world is, permeated by sensations and impulses of the will; so that when we move from pursuing the material outer world to the spiritual-soul realm, we arrive at a mere image. Let us hold fast to this very strictly: on the outside, the sum of material phenomena that we observe in a phenomenological sense — on the inside, the spiritual-soul realm, with a certain abstract character, with an image-like character. But if we enter into the contemplation of what lies spiritually behind the outer material world with an anthroposophical view, into the spirit that works in the movements of the stars, in the becoming of minerals, plants, and animals, if we enter into the spiritual aspect of the becoming of the outer world, if we get to know it through imagination, inspiration, and intuition, then this also gives us an inner mirror image of the human being. But what is this inner reflection of the human being? It is our material organs. They respond to what I have previously learned about the nature of the sun, the nature of the moon, minerals, plants, animals, and so on; the inner organs respond to this. I can only learn about the nature of the human organism by learning about the external world. The material world outside is reflected spiritually and soulfully inside; the spiritual and soulful world outside is reflected inside in the forms of the lungs, liver, heart, and so on. When we look at them, the inner organs are in relation to the spiritual world outside in the same way that our thoughts and feelings are in relation to the material world outside.
This shows us how anthroposophy does not want to reject materialism in an enthusiastic sense. Look at the whole scope of natural science: thousands will be dissatisfied with what is gained from natural science using conventional methods. Through its methods, anthroposophy will gain a view of the material world that will not leave us unsatisfied. It recognizes the material in its own inner organization and in the phenomenology of the environment; but at the same time it must recognize that this inner organization is a result, a consequence of the cosmic spiritual-soul. It therefore also wants to supplement what is achieved only mathematically in astronomy, astrophysics, physics, or chemistry. It will explore this in an organic cosmology and so on, thereby also advancing to an understanding of the material human being. This then provides the basis for what anthroposophy wants to give to medicine, biology, and so on.
Through these hints, which I have only been able to give in a very sketchy way, I believe I have indicated how anthroposophy, when properly understood, cannot be regarded as wanting to engage in a struggle against current science; Rather, the situation is that the current representatives of science have not yet built a bridge to anthroposophy in order to see how anthroposophy also wants to be strictly scientific in its approach to natural phenomena.