The Rudolf Steiner Archive

5. The Epistemological Foundations of Theosophy I

[ 1 ] It will certainly come as no surprise to many of you that, for many of our contemporaries, the mere mention of the word “theosophy” elicits nothing more than a smile. Nor will it be unknown to many that precisely those who currently claim to be scientific or, shall we say, philosophically educated, regard Theosophy as something that must be described as amateurish faffing about or fanciful belief. One finds, particularly in scholarly circles, that the Theosophist is regarded as a kind of fanciful dreamer who professes his peculiar imaginings only because he has never become acquainted with the foundations of knowledge. You will find, particularly in circles that consider themselves scientific, that they readily assume the ‘theosophist’ is, at heart, without any philosophical education whatsoever; and even if he has acquired such an education, or speaks of having one, it is still a dilettantish, pieced-together affair.

[ 2 ] These lectures are not intended to be directly devoted to theosophy. There are plenty of others for that. They are intended to be an examination of Western philosophical education, an examination of how the scientific world relates to theosophy, and how it might actually relate to it. They are intended to refute the prejudice that the theosophist must be an uneducated, layman-like person with regard to science. Who has not heard often enough that philosophers of the most diverse schools—and there are indeed plenty of philosophical schools—claim that mysticism is a vague concept permeated by all manner of allegories and emotional elements, and that theosophy has failed to cultivate what constitutes strictly methodical thinking. If it did so, it would realize the nebulous paths it treads. It would realize that mysticism can take root only in the minds of eccentric people. This is a well-known prejudice.

[ 3 ] But I do not wish to begin with a rebuke. Not because it would be inconsistent with theosophical conviction, but because, based on my own philosophical training, I do not regard theosophy as amateurish, and yet I speak from the depths of its conviction. I can certainly understand that those who have absorbed Western philosophy—that is, those equipped with the full scientific apparatus—find it difficult to see in Theosophy anything other than what is already familiar. For those who come from a background of philosophy and science today, it is truly infinitely more difficult to find their way into Theosophy than for those who approach Theosophy with a naive common sense, with a natural, perhaps religious feeling, and with a need for solutions to certain of life’s riddles. For this Western philosophy places so many obstacles in the path of its disciple, offers him so many judgments that seem to contradict theosophy, that it makes it seemingly impossible to engage with theosophy.

[ 4 ] And indeed, it is true that theosophical literature contains little that resembles an engagement with contemporary science and that could be called philosophical. That is why I have decided to give a series of lectures on this subject. They are intended to serve as an epistemological foundation for theosophy. In the course of these lectures, you will become acquainted with the concepts of contemporary philosophy and their content. And if you consider these in a genuine, true, and profound sense, then you will ultimately—though you must indeed wait until the very end—see the foundation of theosophical knowledge spring forth from this Western philosophy. This is not to be achieved through some sort of clever dialectical juggling of concepts, but rather—as far as is possible in a few lectures—with all the tools that the knowledge of our contemporaries provides us; it is to be achieved with everything capable of giving even those who do not wish to know a taste of the experiential reality of a higher worldview.

[ 5 ] What I have to address would not have been possible to address in the same way in another era. But it has been necessary, perhaps especially in our time, to look to Kant, Locke, Schopenhauer, or to other contemporary writers—let us say Eduard von Hartmann and his student Arthur Drews, or the brilliant epistemologist Volkelt or Otto Liebmann, or to the somewhat feuilletonistic but no less rigorously rational Eucken. Anyone who has looked around there, who has familiarized themselves with this or that nuance that the philosophical-scientific views of the present and the recent past have taken on, will understand and grasp—this is my deepest conviction—that a true, genuine understanding of this philosophical development must not lead away from theosophy, but toward theosophy. It is precisely those who have thoroughly engaged with philosophical teachings who must come to Theosophy.

[ 6 ] I might not need to give this speech if the entire thinking of our time were not currently under the influence of a philosopher. It is said that Immanuel Kant’s great intellectual achievement has given philosophy a scientific foundation. It is said that what he accomplished in defining the problem of knowledge is something unshakable. You will hear that anyone who has not engaged with Kant has no right to have a say in philosophy. You can trace the various currents: Herbart, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, from Schopenhauer to Eduard von Hartmann—only those who have oriented themselves by Kant can find their way through all these lines of thought. After various goals had been pursued in 19th-century philosophy, a call rang out in the mid-1870s—first from Zeller, then from Liebmann, then from Friedrich Albert Lange—the call: Back to Kant! —And philosophy professors are of the opinion that one must orient oneself toward Kant, and only those who do so can have a say in philosophy.

[ 7 ] Kant left an indelible mark on all philosophy of the 19th century and the present day. However, he brought about something quite different from what he himself intended. He expressed it in these words: He believed he had accomplished a feat similar to that of Copernicus. Copernicus turned the entire astronomical worldview upside down. He removed the Earth from the center and made another body—the Sun, which had previously been thought of as in motion—the center. Kant, however, makes human beings, with their cognitive faculties, the center of the physical worldview. He virtually turns the entire physical worldview upside down. That this reversal was necessary is the opinion of most 19th-century philosophers. One can only understand this philosophy if one grasps it from its premises. One can only understand what has flowed from Kantian philosophy if one grasps it from its foundations. Whoever understands how Kant arrived at his conviction that, fundamentally speaking, we can never know things “in themselves,” since everything we know are merely appearances—whoever understands this also understands the course of the development of nineteenth-century philosophy; they also understand the objections that can be raised against theosophy, and how one should respond to them.

[ 8 ] You will know that Theosophy is based on a higher form of experience. The Theosophist says that the source of his knowledge is an experience that goes beyond sensory experience. You can see that this has the same validity as that of the senses, that what the theosophist tells us about astral worlds and so on is just as real as the things we perceive around us with our senses as sensory experience. What the theosophist believes to be his source of knowledge is a higher experience. Read Leadbeater’s *The Astral Plane*, and you will find that things in the astral world are as real as the cabs and horses on the streets of London. This is meant to convey just how real this world is to those who know it. The modern philosopher will immediately object: Yes, but you are mistaken in believing that this is true reality. Has not 19th-century philosophy proven to you that what we call our experience is nothing more than our imagination? And that even the starry sky is nothing more than our imagination within us? — He regards this as the surest knowledge that can possibly exist. Eduard von Hartmann regards it as the most self-evident truth that this is my imagination, and that one cannot know what else it is. If you believe that you can describe experience as “real,” then you are what is called a naive realist. Can you even decide anything about the value of experience if you face the world in this way? This is the great conclusion to which Kantianism has arrived: that the world around us must be our conception.

[ 9 ] How did Kant’s worldview come about? It emerged from the philosophies of his predecessors. Back when Kant was still young, Christian Wolff’s philosophy prevailed in all schools. It distinguished between so-called empirical knowledge, which we acquire through sensory impressions, and then Wolff distinguished what derives from pure reason. While we can only discern the things of ordinary life through experience, according to him, we have things that are the highest objects of knowledge through pure reason. These things are the human soul, human free will, and the questions relating to immortality and the divine nature.

[ 10 ] The so-called empirical sciences deal with what is presented in natural history, physics, history, and so on. How does the astronomer acquire his knowledge? By directing his gaze toward the stars and determining the laws based on his observations. We learn this by opening our senses to the external world. No one can say that this is derived from pure reason. Human beings know this because they see it. These are empirical insights that we take in from life, from experience, regardless of whether we incorporate them into a scientific system or not; it is knowledge gained through experience. No one can describe a lion based on pure reason alone. In contrast, Wolff assumes that one can derive what one is from pure reason. Wolff assumes that we have a theory of the soul based on pure reason, and also that the soul must have free will, that it must have reason, and so on. Therefore, Wolff calls the sciences that deal with the higher aspects of the doctrine of the soul “rational psychology.” The question of whether the world had a beginning and will have an end is a question that should be decided solely by pure reason. He calls this question an object of rational cosmology. No one can decide on the purposefulness of the world based on experience; no one can investigate it through observation. These are all questions of rational cosmology. Then there is a science of God, of a divine plan. This is a science that is likewise derived from reason. This is what is called rational theology; this is what is called metaphysics.

[ 11 ] Kant grew up at a time when philosophy was taught in this sense. In his early writings, you will find him to be a follower of Wolffian philosophy. You will find him convinced that there is such a thing as rational psychology, rational theology, and so on. He presents an argument that he calls the only possible proof of God’s existence. Then he became acquainted with a philosophical movement that had a profound effect on him. He became acquainted with the philosophy of David Hume. That, he said, awakened him from his dogmatic slumber. — What does this philosophy offer? Hume says the following: We see that the sun rises in the morning and then sets in the evening. We have seen this for many days. We also know that all peoples have seen the sun rise and set, that they have had the same experience, and we become accustomed to believing that this must continue to be the case for all time.

[ 12 ] And now another example: We see the sun’s heat falling on a stone. We think it is the sun’s heat that warms the stone. What do we see? We first perceive the sun’s heat and then the warmed stone. What do we perceive here? Only that one fact follows another. And when we experience that the sun’s rays warm the stone, we have already formed the judgment that the sun’s heat is the cause of the stone becoming warm. As Hume says: There is nothing that shows us more than a succession of facts. We become accustomed to the belief that there is a causal connection. But this belief is merely a habit, and all the causal concepts that humans conceive of consist solely of that experience. A person sees that one ball strikes another, sees that a movement results from this, and then becomes accustomed to saying that there is a lawfulness in it. In truth, we are not dealing with any real insight.

[ 13 ] What is it that humans regard as a conclusion derived from pure reason? It is nothing more—as Hume says—than a summary of facts. We must bring the facts of the world into a coherent whole. This corresponds to the human habit of thought, to the inclination of human thought. And we have no right to go beyond this way of thinking. We must not say that there is something in things that has given them a regularity. We can only say that things and events flow past us. But when it comes to the “in themselves” of things, we cannot speak of such a connection.

[ 14 ] How, then, can we speak of things revealing to us something that goes beyond experience? How can we speak of a connection within experience that stems from a divine being who transcends experience, if we are not inclined to look to anything other than our habits of thought?

[ 15 ] This view had such an effect on Kant that it roused him from his dogmatic slumber. He asks: Can there be anything that goes beyond experience? What kind of knowledge does experience provide us with? Does it give us certain knowledge? Kant, of course, immediately answered this question in the negative. He says: Even if you have seen the sun rise a hundred thousand times, you cannot conclude from that that it will rise again tomorrow. Things could turn out differently. If you have based your conclusions solely on experience, it might one day turn out that experience convinces you of something else entirely. Experience can never provide certain, necessary knowledge.

[ 16 ] I know from experience that the sun warms the stone. But I cannot claim that it must warm it. If all our knowledge derives from experience, then it can never rise above the level of uncertainty; in that case, there can be no necessary empirical knowledge. Now Kant seeks to get to the bottom of this matter. He seeks a way out. Throughout his entire youth, he had grown accustomed to believing in knowledge. He had to allow Hume’s philosophy to convince him that there is nothing certain. Is there perhaps something somewhere where one can speak of certain, necessary knowledge? Yet—he says—there are certain judgments. These are mathematical judgments. Is the mathematical judgment perhaps like the judgment: The sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening?

[ 17 ] I have established that the three angles of a triangle add up to one hundred and eighty degrees. If I have provided proof for a single triangle, that suffices for all triangles. I can see from the nature of the proof that it applies to all possible cases. That is the distinctive feature of mathematical proofs. It is clear to everyone that this must also apply to the inhabitants of Jupiter and Mars, if they have triangles at all, that there too the sum of the angles of a triangle must be one hundred and eighty degrees. And then: Two times two can never be anything other than four. That is always true. Therefore, we have proof that there are insights which are absolutely certain. The question cannot therefore be: “Do we have such a piece of knowledge?”—but rather, we must reflect on how it is possible that we have such judgments.

[ 18 ] Now comes Kant’s big question: How are such absolutely necessary judgments possible? How is mathematical knowledge possible? — Kant refers to those judgments and insights derived from experience as a posteriori judgments and insights. The judgment: The sum of the angles of a triangle is one hundred and eighty degrees — is, however, a judgment that precedes all experience, an a priori judgment. I can simply imagine a triangle in my mind and provide the proof, and then, when I see a triangle that I have not yet experienced in detail, I can say that it must have a sum of angles of one hundred and eighty degrees. All higher knowledge depends on this: that I can form judgments based on pure reason. How are such a priori judgments possible? We have seen that a judgment such as “the sum of the angles of a triangle is one hundred and eighty degrees” applies to all triangles. Experience must conform to my judgment. If I draw an ellipse and look out into space, I find that a planet describes such an ellipse. The planet follows my judgment formed in pure cognition. I thus approach experience with my judgment formed purely in the ideal realm. Have I derived this judgment from experience?—Kant asks further. It is beyond doubt that when we form such purely ideal judgments, we actually have no empirical reality. The ellipse, the triangle—they have no empirical reality, but reality conforms to such knowledge. If I want true reality, then I must approach experience. But if I know what laws operate within it, then I have knowledge prior to all experience. The law of the ellipse does not originate from experience. I form that myself in my mind. Thus, a passage in Kant also begins with the sentence: “But even though all our knowledge begins with experience, it does not for that reason all spring from experience.” I project what I possess of knowledge into experience. The human mind is constituted in such a way that everything in its experience corresponds only to the laws it possesses. The human mind is constituted in such a way that it must necessarily formulate these laws. When it then approaches experience, experience must conform to these laws.

[ 19 ] An example: Suppose you are wearing blue-tinted glasses. You will see everything in a blue light; objects will appear to you bathed in blue light. Whatever the actual nature of things outside may be, that is of no concern to me for the time being. The moment the laws that my mind forms extend over the entire world of experience, the entire world of experience must fit into them. It is not true that the judgment “two times two is four” is derived from experience. It is a characteristic of my mind that two times two must always equal four. My mind is such that the three angles of a triangle are always one hundred and eighty degrees. This is how Kant justifies the laws from within man himself. The sun warms the stone. Every effect has a cause. That is a law of my mind. And if the world is chaos, then I set against it the regularity of my mind. I string the world together like a string of pearls. I am the one who turns the world into a mechanism of knowledge. — And now you can also see how Kant came to find such a specific method of knowledge. As long as the human mind is organized as it is, everything—even if reality were to change overnight—must conform to this organization. For me, it could not change if the laws of my mind remain the same. The world may therefore be as it will; we perceive it as it must appear to us according to the laws of our mind.

[ 20 ] Now you can see what is meant when people say: Kant turned the entire theory of knowledge on its head. Previously, it was assumed that humans derive everything from nature. But now he has the human mind dictate the laws of nature. He makes everything revolve around the human mind, just as Copernicus had the Earth revolve around the Sun.

[ 21 ] But there is something else that shows that human beings can never go beyond experience. It may seem like a contradiction, but you will see that it is actually in harmony with Kant’s philosophy. Kant shows that concepts are empty. Two times two is four is an empty judgment unless it is filled with peas or beans. Every effect has a cause—is a purely formal judgment unless it is filled with specific empirical content. Judgments are preformed within me to be applied to the perception of the world. “Perceptions without concepts are blind—concepts without perceptions are empty.” We can conceive of millions of ellipses; they correspond to no reality unless we observe them in the motion of the planets. We must substantiate everything through experience. We can arrive at a priori judgments, but we may apply them only if they correspond to experience.

[ 22 ] But God, freedom, and immortality are things we can ponder for as long as we like, yet about which we cannot gain knowledge through any experience. It is therefore entirely futile to try to determine anything about them using our reason. A priori concepts are valid only to the extent of our experience. Therefore, while we do have a priori science, it tells us only what experience must be like once experience is actually present. We can, as it were, capture experience as if in a web, but we cannot determine what the law of experience must be. We know nothing about the “thing-in-itself,” and since God, freedom, and immortality must have their origin in the “thing-in-itself,” we cannot determine anything about them. We do not see things as they are, but as we must see them according to our constitution.

[ 23 ] With this, Kant established critical idealism and overcame naive realism. What conforms to causality is not the “thing-in-itself.” Whatever submits to my eye or my ear must first make an impression on my eye or my ear. These are the perceptions, the sensations. These are the effects of some “things-in-themselves,” of things that are absolutely unknown to me. These produce a multitude of effects, and I arrange these into a lawful world. I construct an organism of sensations. But what lies behind them, I cannot know. It is nothing other than the regularity that my mind has imposed upon the sensations. What lies behind the sensation, I can know nothing of. Therefore, the world that surrounds me is only subjective. It is only what I myself construct.

[ 24 ] And now, the development of physiology in the 19th century seems to have proven Kant entirely correct. Consider the important insight of the great physiologist Johannes Müller. He formulated the law of specific sensory energies. It holds that each organ responds in its own way. If you let light into the eye, you have a sensation of light; if you strike the eye, you will likewise have a sensation of light. From this, Müller concludes that it does not depend on things outside, but that what I perceive depends on my eye. The eye responds to a process unknown to me with a color quality, let us say: blue. Blue is nowhere out there in space. A process acts upon us, and this produces the sensation of “blue.” What you believe to be standing before you is nothing other than the effect of some unknown processes on a sensory organ. The entire physiology of the 19th century has apparently provided confirmation of this law of specific sensory energies. This also seems to support Kant’s idea.

[ 25 ] In the fullest sense of the word, this worldview can be called illusionism. No one knows anything about what is at work outside, what gives rise to their sensations. From within themselves, they spin their entire world of experience and construct it according to the laws of their mind. Nothing else can ever approach them as long as their constitution is as it is. This is the Kantian doctrine motivated by physiology; this is what Kant calls critical idealism. This is also what Schopenhauer develops in his philosophy: People believe that the entire star-studded sky and the sun surround them. But that is only your own imagination. You create the entire world. — And Eduard von Hartmann says: This is the surest truth there can be. No power could ever shake this proposition. — So says Western philosophy. It has never considered how, fundamentally, experiences come about. Only those who know how experiences come about can hold fast to realism, and they then arrive at true critical idealism. Kant’s view is transcendental idealism; that is to say, he knows nothing of a true reality, nothing of a thing-in-itself, but only of a world of ideas. He essentially says: I must relate my world of ideas to something unknown to me. — This view is to be regarded as something unshakable.

[ 26 ] Is this transcendental idealism truly unshakable? Is the “thing-in-itself” unknowable? — If that were the case, then one could not speak of a higher experience at all. For if the “thing-in-itself” were merely an illusion, then we could not speak of any higher beings. And this is therefore also an objection raised against theosophy: You speak of higher beings.

[ 27 ] We will see next time how these ideas need to be explored in greater depth.