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The Origins of Natural Science
GA 326

24 December 1922, Dornach

Lecture I

My dear friends! You have come together this Christmas, some of you from distant places, to work in the Goetheanum on some matters in the field of spiritual science. At the outset of our considerations I would like to extend to you—especially the friends who have come from afar—our heartiest Christmas greetings. What I myself, occupied as I am with the most manifold tasks, will be able to offer you at this particular time can only be indications in one or another direction. Such indications as will be offered in my lectures, and in those of others, will, we hope, result in a harmony of feeling and thinking among those gathered together here in the Goetheanum. It is also my hope that those friends who are associated with the Goetheanum and more or less permanently residing here will warmly welcome those who have come from elsewhere. Through our working, thinking and feeling together, there will develop what must be the very soul of all endeavors at the Goetheanum; namely, our perceiving and working out of the spiritual life and essence of the world.

If this ideal increasingly becomes a reality, if the efforts of individuals interested in the anthroposophical world conception flow together in true social cooperation, in mutual give and take, then there will emerge what is intended to emerge at the Goetheanum. In this spirit, I extend the heartiest welcome to those friends who have come here from afar as well as to those residing more permanently in Dornach.

The indication that I shall try to give in this lecture course will not at first sight appear to be related to the thought and feeling of Christmas, yet inwardly, I believe, they are so related. In all that is to be achieved at the Goetheanum, we are striving toward the birth of something new, toward knowledge of the spirit, toward a feeling consecrated to the spirit, toward a will sustained by the spirit. This is in a sense the birth of a super-sensible spiritual element and, in a very real way, symbolizes the Christmas thought, the birth of that spiritual Being who produced a renewal of all human evolution upon earth. Therefore, our present studies are, after all, imbued with the character of a Christmas study.

Our aim in these lectures is to establish the moment in history when the scientific mode of thinking entered mankind's development. This does not conflict with what I have just said. If you remember what I described many years ago in my book Mysticism at the Dawn of the Modern Age,1 Rudolf Steiner, Mysticism at the Dawn of the Modern Age (Blauvelt, NY: Steinerbooks, 1960) (formerly published as Eleven European Mystics). you will perceive my conviction that beneath the external trappings of scientific conceptions one can see the first beginnings of a new spirituality. My opinion, based on objective study, is that the scientific path taken by modern humanity was, if rightly understood, not erroneous but entirely proper. Moreover, if regarded in the right way, it bears within itself the seed of a new perception and a new spiritual activity of will. It is from this point of view that I would like to give these lectures. They will not aim at any kind of opposition to science. The aim and intent is instead to discover the seeds of spiritual life in the highly productive modern methods of scientific research. On many occasions I have pointed this out in various way. In lectures given at various times on various areas of natural scientific thinking,2 These include the three natural scientific courses held in Stuttgart: First First Scientific Lecture Course: Light Course (Forest Row, England: Steiner Schools Fellowship, 1977); Second Scientific Lecture Course: Warmth Course (Spring Valley, NY: Mercury Press, 1981); and Das Verhältnis der verschiedenen naturwissenschaftlichen Gebiete sur Astronomie. (Dornach, Switzerland: Rudolf Steiner Verlag). The relationship between natural science and spiritual science is dealt with in The Boundaries of Natural Science (Spring Valley, NY, Anthroposophic Press, 1983). I have given details of the path that I want to characterize in broader outline during the present lectures.

If we want to acquaint ourselves with the real meaning of scientific research in recent times and the mode of thinking that can and does underlie it, we must go back several centuries into the past. The essence of scientific thinking is easily misunderstood, if we look only at the immediate present. The actual nature of scientific research cannot be understood unless its development is traced through several centuries. We must go back to a point in time that I have often described as very significant in modern evolution; namely, the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. At that time, an altogether different form of thinking, which was still active through the Middle Ages, was supplanted by the dawn of the present-day mode of thought. As we look back into this dawn of the modern age, in which many memories of the past were still alive, we encounter a man in whom we can see, as it were, the whole transition from an earlier to a later form of thinking. He is Cardinal Nicholas Cusanus,3 Nicholas Cusanus (Nicholas of Cusa), 1401–1464. Lawyer, churchman, philosopher, mathematician. Ordained priest between 1436–1440, Cardinal 1448. Bishop of Brixen, 1450. cf. chapter on Cusanus in Mysticism at the Dawn of the Modern Age. (Nicholas of Cusa) a renowned churchman and one of the greatest thinkers of all time. He was born in 1401, the son of a boatman and vinegrower in the Rhine country of Western Germany, and died in 1464, a persecuted ecclesiastic.4 Nicholas Cusanus was made Cardinal and named Bishop of Brixen in rapid succession. Though a stranger to Brixen he was named Bishop there directly by the Pope. This led to a protracted conflict with his diocese, during which the latter gathered behind the Duke of Tirol. Cusa was ambushed by the Duke, imprisoned, and forced into accepting a demeaning agreement. The Duke was excommunicated by the Pope and attacked by the Swiss Confederation. However, he was supported by German Counts and remained intransigent. Cusa died before the Emperor could resolve the conflict. The battles around him did not rob Cusa of his peace of mind, and he developed his philosophic, mathematical and theological insights, writing fifteen of his works during the time in Brixen. Though he may have understood himself quite well, Cusanus was a person who is in some respects extremely difficult for a modern student to comprehend.

Cusanus received his early education in the community that has been called “The Brethren of the Common Life.”5 Brethren of Common Life (also of Good Will): Founded by Gerhart Groote around 1376. Brother-houses in Holland, Northern Germany, Italy and Portugal. Brought into the Catholic Church in the Fifteenth Century. Their schools taught under the strict observance of dogma. There he absorbed his earliest impressions, which were of a peculiar kind. It is clear that Nicholas already possessed a certain amount of ambition as a boy, but this was tempered by an extraordinary gift for comprehending the needs of the social life of his time. In the community of the Brethren of the Common Life, persons were gathered together who were dissatisfied with the church institutions and with the monastic and religious orders that, though within the church, were to some degree in opposition to it.

In a manner of speaking, the Brethren of the Common Life were mystical revolutionaries. They wanted to attain what they regarded as their ideal purely by intensification of a life spent in peace and human brotherhood. They rejected any rulership based on power, such as was found in a most objectionable form in the official church at that time. They did not want to become estranged from the world as were members of monastic orders. They stressed physical cleanliness; they insisted that each one should faithfully and diligently perform his duty in external life and in his profession. They did not want to withdraw from the world. In a life devoted to genuine work they only wanted to withdraw from time to time into the depths of their souls. Alongside the external reality of life, which they acknowledged fully in a practical sense, they wanted to discover the depths and inwardness of religious and spiritual feeling. Theirs was a community that above all else cultivated human qualities in an atmosphere where a certain intimacy with God and contemplation of the spirit might abide. It was in this community—at Deventer in Holland—that Cusanus was educated. The majority of the members were people who, in rather narrow circles, fulfilled their duties, and sought in their quiet chambers for God and the spiritual world.

Cusanus, on the other hand, was by nature disposed to be active in outer life and, through the strength of will springing from his knowledge, to involve himself in organizing social life. Thus Cusanus soon felt impelled to leave the intimacy of life in the brotherhood and enter the outer world. At first, he accomplished this by studying jurisprudence. It must be borne in mind, however, that at that time—the early Fifteenth Century—the various sciences were less specialized and had many more points of contact than was the case later on.

So for a while Cusanus practiced law. His was an era, however, in which chaotic factors extended into all spheres of social life. He therefore soon wearied of his law practice and had himself ordained a priest of the Roman Catholic Church. He always put his whole heart into whatever he did, and so he now became a true priest of the Papal church. He worked in this capacity in the various clerical posts assigned to him, and he was particularly active at the Council of Basle (1431–1449).6 Council of Basel: 1431–1449. Called by Pope Martin V on July 23, 1431, the year of his death. This was the last of four reformatory councils with the aim of ending the division in the Church. There came a new rift in the Church. There he headed a minority whose ultimate aim it was to uphold the absolute power of the Holy See.7 In 1437. This summarizes a long process: Cusanus entered the Council 1432 with the task from the Archdiocese of Trier to defend their Archbishop, whom they had chosen against the will of the Pope. Through the treatise De Concordantia Catholica (On Catholic Unity) which he distributed among the Council and which contained an exceptional survey of the decisions of the Councils and Decrees of the Church, he offered the advice welcome by the majority that the Common Council was beyond the Pope. Thus, he immediately became an important figure in the Council.

Later, the Council majority and the history writings accused Cusanus of having changed his conviction. But Cusanus' deep understanding was ignored, which was rooted in his attitude and which comes to expression in the following words: “When a decision is made unanimously, then one can believe that it came from the Holy Spirit. It lies not in men's power to meet somewhere, and although they are so different from each other, they are able to come to a harmonious decision. It is God's work.” (From J.M. Duex, Der Deutsche Cardinal Nicolaus Von Cusa, Regensburg 1874, Bd. 2, s. 262, which has translated some of the most important of the De Concordantia Catholica. Cusanus must have experienced at the Council that his description of the meaning of a Council was not taken with interest, and he must have faced a decision that is mentioned in the lecture.
The majority, consisting for the most part of bishops and cardinals from the West, were striving after a more democratic form, so to speak, of church administration. The pope, they thought, should be subordinated to the councils. This led to a schism in the Council. Those who followed Cusanus moved the seat of the Council to the South; the others remained in Basle and set up an anti-pope.8 Pope Eugene 4th was put down and Duke Amadeus of Savoy was set up as Pope Felix 5th in 1439. His resignation in 1449 caused the disbandment of the Council. Cusanus remained firm in his defense of an absolute papacy. With a little insight it is easy to imagine the feelings that impelled Cusanus to take this stand. He must have felt that whatever emerged from a majority could at best lead only to a somewhat sublimated form of the same chaos already existing in his day. What he wanted was a firm hand that would bring about law and order, though he did want firmness permeated with insight. When he was sent to Middle Europe later on, he made good this desire by upholding consolidation of the Papal church.9 From 1439–1448 Cusanus acted on the order of the Pope as “Hercules of the Eugenians” as an opponent called him. He went to worldly and churchly princes as well as to the “Reichstag,” and he tried to overcome the neutrality of the Germans about the split of churches, with complete success. He was therefore, as a matter of course, destined to become a cardinal of the Papal church of that time.

As I said earlier, Nicholas probably understood himself quite well, but a latter-day observer finds him hard to understand. This becomes particularly evident when we see this defender of absolute papal power traveling from place to place and—if the words he then spoke are taken at face value—fanatically upholding the papistical Christianity of the West against the impending danger of a Turkish invasion.10At the meetings of the princes, 1454, in Nuremberg, Regensburg, and Frankfurt after the invasion of Constantinople by the Turkish, Cusanus tried to motivate the princes to a crusade. After J. Hunnyadis' victory over the Turkish Army in front of Belgrade in 1456 Cusanus organized, at the same day he received the message, a festival of thanksgiving, and he spoke the following words: “Because the lower man can only enjoy life animal-like and physical, Satan who wants to destroy the Gospels in a fine way, intended the appearance of Muhammad who knows the Gospel and the Bible, to let him give the Gospel and Bible an animal-like, sensual meaning. In this way Satan taught Muhammad knowledge to let go forth the head of Malignity, the son of Ruin, and to be an enemy of the cross of Christ.” (From a sermon, “Landaus Invocalo Dominum,” partly translated by J.M. Duex A.A.O.S. 165). Further sermons against the Turks are known from October 28, and November 5 of the same year. (E. Varisteenberge, Le Cardinal Nicolas De Cues, Paris 1920, S. 231 F, and index of sermons s. 480), but this sermon seems to be available only in Latin.

Cusanus himself announced his appointment as Cardinal with a short autobiographical note in which is written: Nicolas was made Cardinal secretly by Pope Eugene (Hist. Jahrbuch der Goerrers Gesellschaft 16.S.549).
On the one hand, Cusanus (who in all likelihood had already been made a cardinal by that time) spoke in flaming words against the infidels. In vehement terms he summoned Europe to unite in resistance to the Turkish threat from Asia. On the other hand, if we study a book that Cusanus probably composed11De Pace Fidei (On the Peace of the Faiths), written in September 1453. “The horrible days of Constantinople ... had caused a deep feeling of sadness in the breast of a man who once had wandered through this region, and caused him to sink into deep contemplation, and he had a vision. In this sublime state, he particularly thinks about the differences of the religions of the world, and the possibility of their harmony. This harmony is, in his opinion, a basic condition for religious peace.” (Introduction to De Pace Fidei: Nach Duex A.A.O.S. 405). in the very midst of his inflammatory campaigns against the Turks, we find something strange. In the first place, Cusanus preaches in the most rousing manner against the imminent danger posed by the Turks, inciting all good men to defend themselves against this peril and thus save European civilization. But then Cusanus sits down at his desk and writes a treatise on how Christians and Jews, pagans and Moslems—provided they are rightly understood—can be brought to peaceful cooperation, to the worship and recognition of the one universal God; how in Christians, Jews, Moslems and heathens there dwells a common element that need only be discovered to create peace among mankind. Thus the most conciliatory sentiments in regard to religions and denominations flow from this man's quiet private chamber, while he publicly calls for war in the most fanatical words.

This is what makes it hard to understand a man like Nicholas Cusanus. Only real insight that age can make him comprehensible but he must be viewed in the context of the inner spiritual development of his time. No criticism is intended. We only want to see the external side of this man, with the furious activity that I have described, and then to see what was living in his soul. We simply want to place the two aspects side by side.

We can best observe what took place in Cusanus's mind if we study the mood he was in while returning from a mission to Constantinople12Cusanus left Basel in May 1437 together with other representatives of the minority and traveled for the minority with the legation of the Pope to Constantinople to accompany the Greek Emperor and the heads of the Eastern Church to the Union Council in Ferrara. They arrived in February 1438 in Italy. on the behalf of the Holy See. His task was to work for the reconciliation of the Western and Eastern churches. On his return voyage, when he was on the ship and looking at the stars, there arose in him the fundamental thought, the basic feeling, incorporated in the book that he published in 1440 under the title De Docta Ignorantia (On Learned Ignorance).13De Docta Ignorantia (The Learned Ignorance). Three books finished in February 1440.

What is the mood of this book? Cardinal Cusanus had, of course, long since absorbed all the spiritual knowledge current in the Middle Ages. He was well versed also in what the medieval schools of Neo-Platonism and Neo-Aristotelianism had attained. He was also quite familiar with the way Thomas Aquinas had spoken of the spiritual worlds as though it were the most normal thing for human concepts to rise from sense perception to spirit perception. In addition to his mastery of medieval theology, he had a thorough knowledge of the mathematical conceptions accessible to men of that time. He was an exceptionally good mathematician. His soul, therefore, was filled on the one side with the desire to rise through theological concepts to the world of spirit that reveals itself to man as the divine and, on the other side, with all the inner discipline, rigor and confidence that come to a man who immerses himself in mathematics. Thus he was both a fervent and an accurate thinker.

When he was crossing the sea from Constantinople to the West and looking up at the starlit sky, his twofold soul mood characterized above revolved itself in the following feeling. Thenceforth, Cusanus conceived the deity as something lying outside human knowledge. He told himself: “We can live here on earth with our knowledge, with our concepts and thoughts. By means of these we can take hold of what surrounds us in the kingdom of nature. But these concepts grow ever more lame when we direct our gaze upward to what reveals itself as the divine.”

In Scholasticism, arising from quite another viewpoint, a gap had opened up between knowledge and revelation.14See Rudolf Steiner, The Redemption of Thinking. (Spring Valley, NY: Anthroposophic Press, 1983). This gap now became the deepest problem of Cusanus's soul, the most intimate concern of the heart. Repeatedly he sent through this course of reasoning, repeatedly he saw how thinking extends itself over everything surrounding man in nature; how it then tries to raise itself above this realm to the divinity of thoughts; and how, there, it becomes ever more tenuous until it finally completely dissipates into nothingness as it realizes that the divine lies beyond that void into which thinking has dissipated. Only if a man has developed (apart form this life in thought) sufficient fervent love to be capable of continuing further on this path that his though has traversed, only if love gains the lead over thought, then this love can attain the realm into which knowledge gained only by thinking cannot reach.

It therefore became a matter of deep concern for Cusanus to designate the actual divine realm as the dimension before which human thought grows lame and human knowledge is dispersed into nothingness. This was his docta ignorantia, his learned ignorance. Nicholas Cusanus felt that when erudition, knowledge, assumes in the noblest sense a state of renouncing itself at the instant when it thinks to attain the spirit, then it achieves its highest form, it becomes docta ignorantia. It was in this mood that Cusanus published his De Docta Ignorantia in 1440.

Let us leave Cusanus for the moment, and look into the lonely cell of a medieval mystic who preceded Cusanus. To the extent that this man has significance for spiritual science, I described him in my book on mysticism. He is Meister Eckhart,15Meister Eckhart: Hochheim by Gotha about 1260–before 1328, Cologne. Dominican, schoolmaster, German mystic. Preached in leading posts in orders and churches; taught in Paris, Strasbourg, Cologne. Main work: Opus Tripartius. Based on Scholasticism and writings of Dionysius the Areopagite. Copies of his sermons partly went around without his control. Meister Eckhart died, accused as heretic, during the trial. See chapter, “Meister Eckhart,” in Rudolf Steiner's Mysticism at the Dawn of the Modern Age. a man who was declared a heretic by the official church. There are many ways to study the writings of Meister Eckhart and one can delight in the fervor of his mysticism. It is perhaps most profoundly touching if, through repeated study, the reader comes upon a fundamental mood of Eckhart's soul.

I would like to describe it as follows. Though living earlier than Cusanus, Meister Eckhart too was imbued through and through with what medieval Christian theology sought as an ascent to the divine, to the spiritual world. When we study Meister Eckhart's writings, we can recognize Thomistic shades of thought in many of his lines. But each time Meister Eckhart's soul tries to rise from theological thinking to the actual spiritual world (with which it feels united,) it ends

By saying to itself that with all this thinking and theology it cannot penetrate to its innermost essence, to the divine inner spark. It tells itself: This thinking, this theology, these ideas, give me fragments of something here, there, everywhere. But none of these are anything like the spiritual divine spark in my own inner being. Therefore, I am excluded from all thoughts, feelings, and memories that fill my soul, from all knowledge of the world that I can absorb up to the highest level. I am excluded from it all, even though I am seeking the deepest nature of my own being. I am in nothingness when I seek this essence of myself. I have searched and searched. I traveled many paths, and they brought me many ideas and feelings, and on these paths I found much. I searched for my “I,” but before ever I found it, I fell into “nothingness” in this search for the “I,” although all the kingdoms of nature urged me to the search.

So, in his search for the self, Meister Eckhart felt that he had fallen into nothingness. This feeling evoked in this medieval mystic words that profoundly touch the heart and soul. They can be paraphrased thus: “I submerge myself in God's nothingness, and am eternally, through nothingness, through nothing, an I; through nothing, I become an I. In all eternity, I must etch the I from the ‘nothingness’ of God.”16These lines cannot be made clear and simple because the German text plays at length on the words Nicht and Ich. These are powerful words. Why did this urge for “nothing,” for finding that I in nothingness, resound in the innermost chamber of this mystic's heart, when he wanted to pass from seeking the world to seeking the I? Why? If we go back into earlier times, we find that in former ages it was possible, when the soul turned its gaze inward into itself, to behold the spirit shining forth within. This was still a heritage of primeval pneumatology, of which we shall speak later on. When Thomas Aquinas, for example, peered into the soul, he found within the soul a weaving, living spiritual element. Thomas Aquinas17Thomas Aquinas: Castle Roccasecca in the Neopolitan region, about 1225–1274 Cloister Fossanuova. Dominican, scholar, churchman. In Cologne, student and friend of Albertus Magnus. Advocated the spiritual reality of general concepts. He directed the theological school in Rome from 1261–1267. There the studies of the Dominican; from 1268 onwards he is teaching in Naples and France. See Rudolf Steiner, The Redemption of Thinking and Riddles of Philosophy (Spring Valley, NY: Anthroposophic Press, 1973). and his predecessors sought the essential ego not in the soul itself but in the spiritual dwelling in the soul. They looked through the soul into the spirit, and in the spirit they found their God-given I. And they said, or could have said: I penetrate into my inmost soul, gaze into the spirit, and in the spirit I find the I.—In the meantime, however, in humanity's forward development toward the realm of freedom, men had lost the ability to find the spirit when they looked inward into themselves.

An earlier figure such as John Scotus Erigena (810–880) would not have spoken as did Meister Eckhart. He would have said: I gaze into my being. When I have traversed all the paths that led me through the kingdoms of the outer world, then I discover the spirit in my inmost soul. Thereby, I find the “I” weaving and living in the soul. I sink myself as spirit into the Divine and discover “I.”

It was, alas, human destiny that the path that was still accessible to mankind in earlier centuries was no longer open in Meister Eckhart's time. Exploring along the same avenues as John Scotus Erigena or even Thomas Aquinas, Meister Eckhart could not sink himself into God-the-Spirit, but only into the “nothingness” of the Divine, and from this “nothing” he had to take hold of the I. This shows that mankind could no longer see the spirit in inner vision. Meister Eckhart brought the I out of the naught through the deep fervor of his heart. His successor, Nicholas Cusanus,18Nicholas Copernicus: Thorn 1473–1543 Frauenburg. Humanist, mathematician, astronomer, physician, lawyer. No publications during his life, with the exception of a translation. Finished his work on the heliocentric planetary system around 1507. Copernicus was already on his deathbed when his De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium was published. He dedicated it to Pope Paul III. His friend and publisher introduced it as a purely hypothetical, special scientific method of calculation. It thus slipped past the censor, until the third edition was banned in 1616/17. Not until 1822 was it accepted by the Catholic Church, cf. Rudolf Steiner, The Spiritual Guidance of Man. (Spring Valley, NY: Anthroposophic Press, 1983). admits with complete candor: All thoughts and ideas that lead us in our exploration of the world become lame, become as nothing, when we would venture into the realm of spirit. The soul has lost the power to find the spirit realm in its inner being. So Cusanus says to himself: When I experience everything that theology can give me, I am led into this naught of human thinking. I must unite myself with what dwells in this nothingness in order to at least gain in the docta ignorantia the experience of the spirit.—Then, however, such knowledge, such perception, cannot be expressed in words. Man is rendered dumb when he has reached the point at which he can experience the spirit only through the docta ignorantia.

Thus Cusanus is the man who in his own personal development experiences the end of medieval theology and is driven to the docta ignorantia. He is, however, at the same time a skillful mathematician. He has the disciplined thinking that derives from the pursuit of mathematics. But he shies away, as it were, from applying his mathematical skills to the docta ignorantia. He approaches the docta ignorantia with all kinds of mathematical symbols and formulas, but he does this timidly, diffidently. He is always conscious of the fact that these are symbols derived from mathematics. He says to himself: Mathematics is the last remnant left to me from ancient knowledge. I cannot doubt its reliability as I can doubt that of theology, because I actually experience its reliability when I apprehend mathematics with my mind.—At the same time, his disappointment with theology is so great he dares not apply his mathematical skills in the field of the docta ignorantia except in the form of symbols.

This is the end of one epoch in human thinking. In his inner mood of soul, Cusanus was almost as much of a mathematician as was Descartes later on, but he dared not try to grasp with mathematics what appeared to him in the manner he described in his Docta Ignorantia He felt as though the spirit realm had withdrawn from mankind, had vanished increasingly into the distance, and was unattainable with human knowledge. Man must become ignorant in the innermost sense in order to unite himself in love with this realm of the spirit.

This mood pervades Cusanus's Docta Ignorantia published in 1440. In the development of Western civilization, men had once believed that they confronted the spirit-realm in close perspective. But then, this spirit realm became more and more remote from those men who observed it, and finally it vanished. The book of 1440 was a frank admission that the ordinary human comprehension of that time could no longer reach the remote perspectives into which the spirit realm has withdrawn. Mathematics, the most reliable of the sciences, dared to approach only with symbolic formulas what was no longer beheld by the soul. It was as though this spirit realm, receding further and further in perspective, had disappeared from European civilization. But from the opposite direction, another realm was coming increasingly into view. This was the realm of the sense world, which European civilization was beginning to observe and like. In 1440, Nicholas Cusanus applied mathematical thinking and mathematical knowledge to the vanishing spirit realm only by a timid use of symbols; but now Nicholas Copernicus boldly and firmly applied them to the outer sense world. In 1440 the Docta Ignorantia appeared with the admission that even with mathematics one can no longer behold the spirit realm. We must conceive the spirit realm as so far removed from human perception that even mathematics can approach it only with halting symbols; this is what Nicholas Cusanus said in 1440. “Conceive of mathematics as so powerful and reliable that it can force the sense world into mathematical formulas that are scientifically understandable.” This is what Nicholas Copernicus said to European civilization in 1543. In 1543 Copernicus published his De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium (On the Revolutions of the Celestial Bodies,) where the universe was depicted so boldly and rudely that it had to surrender itself to mathematical treatment.

One century lies between the two. During this century Western science was born. Earlier, it had been in an embryonic state. Whoever wants to understand what led to the birth of Western science, must understand this century that lies between the Docta Ignorantia and the De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelestium. Even today, if we are to understand the true meaning of science, we must study the fructifications that occurred at that time in human soul life and the renunciations it had to experience. We must go back this far in time. If we want to have the right scientific attitude, we must begin there, and we must also briefly consider the embryonic state preceding Nicholas Cusanus. Only then can we really comprehend what science can accomplish for mankind and see how new spiritual life can blossom forth from it.

Erster Vortrag

Meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden und lieben Freunde! Sie haben sich auch von auswärtigen Orten hier zu diesem Weihnachten zusammengefunden, um innerhalb des Goetheanums einiges zu arbeiten und zu verarbeiten, das auf dem Gebiete der Geisteswissenschaft liegt, und ich möchte Ihnen beim Ausgangspunkte unserer betrachtenden Arbeiten, insbesondere den von auswärts hergekommenen Freunden oder Interessenten unserer Sache einen herzlichsten Gruß, einen herzlichsten Weihnachtsgruß entgegenbringen. Dasjenige, was ich selbst, durch die mannigfaltigsten Arbeiten in Anspruch genommen, gerade in der gegenwärtigen Zeit werde bieten können, werden ja nur Anregungen nach der einen oder anderen Richtung sein können. Allein dasjenige, was sich neben solchen Anregungen, die durch meine und anderer Vorträge kommen sollen, ergeben möchte, das ist ja ein zusammenstimmendes Fühlen und Denken derjenigen Persönlichkeiten, die sich innerhalb unseres Goetheanums finden. Und so darf ich wohl hoffen, daß diejenigen Freunde, die immer oder wenigstens längere Zeit hier am Goetheanum verweilen, und mit demselben in irgendeiner Weise dauernd verbunden sind, in Herzlichkeit entgegenkommen denjenigen, welche von auswärts hergekommen sind. Denn in diesem harmonischen Zusammenarbeiten, Zusammendenken und Zusammenfühlen soll sich ja dasjenige entwickeln, was gewissermaßen als die Seele aller Arbeit am Goetheanum dastehen soll, das Erkennen, das Erfühlen des geistigen Webens und Wesens der Welt, das Wirken aus diesem geistigen Wesen und Weben der Welt heraus. Und je mehr das Realität wird, was uns als Ideal voranleuchten muß, daß das Nebeneinanderhergehen der einzelnen Interessenten der anthroposophischen Weltanschauung auch ein wirkliches gesellschaftliches Zusammen- und Ineinanderwirken werde, desto mehr kann das wirklich zutage treten, was hier zutage treten soll.

Im Hinblick auf diese Hoffnungen, meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden, heiße ich alle diejenigen, die von auswärts herbeigekommen sind, diejenigen, die hier dauernder mit dem Goetheanum verbunden sind, auf das Allerherzlichste willkommen.

Dasjenige, was ich in diesen Kursvorträgen an einzelnen Anregungen werde zu geben versuchen, hängt scheinbar zunächst nicht mit dem Weihnachtsgedanken und den Weihnachtsempfindungen zusammen; aber innerlich, meine ich, hängt es doch zusammen. Streben wir ja doch innerhalb alles desjenigen, was aus dem Goetheanum heraus erarbeitet werden soll, zu einer gewissen Neugeburt, einer geistigen Erkenntnis, eines dem Geiste geweihten Fühlens, eines aus dem Geiste heraus getragenen Wollens. Und das ist, wenn auch in einem späteren Abglanz, ja auch in gewissem Sinne die Geburt eines ÜbersinnlichGeistigen und symbolisiert in realem Sinne den Weihnachtsgedanken, die Geburt jenes Geistwesens, das eine Neubefruchtung aller Menschheitsentwickelung auf Erden hervorgebracht hat. Und so möchte ich dennoch diese Betrachtungen als mit dem Charakter einer Weihnachtsbetrachtung ausgestattet sehen.

Wenn das Thema gerade den Entwickelungsmoment herausarbeiten soll, in dem die naturwissenschaftliche Denkungsart in die moderne Menschheitsentwickelung eingetreten ist, so widerspricht das nicht der Intention, die ich eben geäußert habe, denn wer sich erinnert an dasjenige, was ich vor jetzt schon vielen Jahren dargestellt habe in meinem Buche: «Die Mystik im Aufgange des neuzeitlichen Geisteslebens und ihr Verhältnis zur naturwissenschaftlichen Vorstellungsart», der wird sich schon sagen können, daß für mich dasjenige gilt, was ich nennen möchte das Schauen des Embryonallebens einer neuen Geistigkeit in der Hülle naturwissenschaftlicher Vorstellungsarten. Meine Meinung muß sein aus der sachlichen Betrachtung heraus, daß der naturwissenschaftliche Weg, den die neuere Menschheit gegangen ist, wenn er richtig verstanden ist, kein irrtümlicher ist, sondern ein richtiger, daß er aber, wenn er richtig angesehen wird, den Keim einer neuen GeistErkenntnis und einer neuen geistigen Willenstätigkeit in sich trägt. Und von diesem Gesichtspunkte aus möchte ich auch diese Vorträge halten. Sie sollen nicht gehalten werden etwa, um eine Gegnerschaft gegenüber der Naturwissenschaft zu betonen, sie sollen gehalten werden gerade zu dem Ziel und aus der Intention heraus, aus der fruchtbaren naturwissenschaftlichen Forschungsart der neueren Zeit Keime zu einem Geistesleben zu finden. Es wurde dies ja von mir zu den verschiedensten Zeiten auf die verschiedenste Weise gesagt. Und einzelne Vorträge, die ich auf verschiedenen Gebieten des naturwissenschaftlichen Denkens gehalten habe, zeigen auch in Einzelheiten den Weg, den ich mehr im großen durch diese Vorträge charakterisieren will.

Wer den eigentlichen Sinn der naturwissenschaftlichen Forschungen der neueren Zeit mit der dahinterstehenden oder wenigstens dahinter möglichen menschlichen Denkweise kennenlernen will, der muß schon um einige Jahrhunderte zurückgehen. Denn man kann leicht das innere Wesen der naturwissenschaftlichen Vorstellung verkennen, wenn man es nur aus der unmittelbaren Gegenwart auffassen will. Man lernt dieses wirkliche Wesen der naturwissenschaftlichen Forschung nur kennen, wenn man das Werden derselben durch einige Jahrhunderte verfolgt. Und wir werden, wenn wir ein solches Verfolgen suchen, zurückgewiesen zu einem Zeitpunkte, der von mir oftmals als ein wichtiger in der ganzen neueren Entwickelung der Menschheit gekennzeichnet worden ist, wir werden in das 14., 15. Jahrhundert zurückgewiesen, in jene Zeit, in welcher ein ganz andersgeartetes menschliches Vorstellen, das noch das Mittelalter hindurch tätig ist, abgelöst wird durch die erste Morgendämmerung desjenigen Denkens, in dem wir heute voll drinnenstehen. Und es begegnet uns in dieser Morgendämmerung der neueren Zeit beim Rückblick eine Persönlichkeit, an der wir gewissermaßen alles sehen können, was Übergang ist aus einer früheren Denkweise in eine spätere, es begegnet uns in dieser Morgendämmerung, in der aber noch vieles lebt von Erinnerungen an dasjenige, was vorangegangen ist, Nikolaus Cusanus, der auf der einen Seite der große Kirchenmann war, der auf der anderen Seite einer der größten Denker aller Zeiten war. Und es begegnet uns in diesem Kardinal Nikolaus Cusanus, der als der Sohn eines Schiffers und Winzers im westlichen Deutschland 1401 geboren ist, der 1464 als ein verfolgter Kirchenmann gestorben ist, es begegnet uns in ihm eine Persönlichkeit, die wahrscheinlich sich selbst außerordentlich gut verständlich war, die aber in einer gewissen Beziehung dem nachherigen Beobachter für das Verständnis außerordentliche Schwierigkeiten macht.

Der spätere Kardinal Nikolaus Cusanus ist also als der Sohn eines Winzers und Schiffers in der Rheingegend im westlichen Deutschland geboren. Er erhielt seine erste Erziehung in jener Gemeinschaft, die den Namen erhalten hat «Die Brüder vom gemeinsamen Leben». Da nimmt er seine ersten Jugendeindrücke auf. Diese Jugendeindrücke sind sonderbarer Art. Gewiß lebte wohl schon in dem Knaben Nikolaus etwas von einem menschlichen Ehrgeiz, der aber gemildert war durch eine außerordentlich geniale Begabung im Überschauen desjenigen, was in der Wirklichkeit des sozialen Lebens, also der sozialen Gegenwart des Nikolaus Cusanus notwendig war. Die Brüder des gemeinsamen Lebens waren eine Gemeinschaft, in der sich zusammengefunden haben solche Leute, die aus dem Innersten ihres Gemütes heraus unzufrieden waren sowohl mit den Kircheninstitutionen, wie auch mit demjenigen, was ja damals mehr oder weniger in der Kirche in Opposition gegen dieselbe darinnen stand; welche unzufrieden waren auch mit Mönchtum und Ordenswesen.

Die Brüder vom gemeinsamen Leben waren in einer gewissen Weise mystische Revolutionäre. Sie wollten alles dasjenige, was sie als ihr Ideal ansahen, eigentlich nur erreichen durch die Verinnerlichung eines friedvollen und in menschlicher Brüderlichkeit vollbrachten Lebens. Sie wollten nicht eine auf Gewalt begründete Herrschaft, wie sie die äußere Kirche hatte und damals wahrlich in keiner sympathischen Gestalt verwirklichte. Sie wollten aber auch nicht weltfremd werden wie die Angehörigen des Mönchtums. Sie hielten sehr auf äußere Sauberkeit, sie hielten darauf, daß ein jeglicher von ihnen seine Pflicht im äußeren Leben, in den Einzelheiten des Berufes, innerhalb welchem er stand, erfüllte, treu und fleißig erfüllte. Sie wollten sich nicht von der Welt zurückziehen, sie wollten sich nur in einem der wirklichen Arbeit gewidmeten Leben jeweilig zurückziehen in die Tiefen ihrer Seelen, um neben der äußeren Lebenswirklichkeit, die sie als volle Lebenspraxis anerkannten, Tiefe und Innerlichkeit eines religiös-geistigen Empfindens finden zu können. Und so war diese Gemeinschaft eine solche, welche vor allen Dingen menschliche Eigenschaften als die Atmosphäre ausbildete, in welcher eine gewisse Gottinnigkeit und Geistinnigkeit leben sollte. In Deventer in Holland wurde Nikolaus Cusanus innerhalb dieser Gemeinschaft erzogen. Die anderen Angehörigen, wenigstens die meisten dieser Gemeinschaft der Brüder des gemeinsamen Lebens, waren zumeist solche Leute, welche eben in engumschränkten Kreisen ihre Pflichten vollführten und dann, man möchte sagen, im stillen Kämmerlein ihren Weg zu Gott und zur geistigen Welt suchten.

Nikolaus war eine Natur, welche veranlagt war dazu, sich hinzustellen und Organisation unter den Menschen im sozialen Leben durch die Kraft seiner Erkenntnis, durch die Kraft seines aus der Erkenntnis herausquillenden Willens zu verwirklichen. Und so fügte bald der innere Drang, der in Nikolaus von Kues veranlagt war, zu der Innigkeit des Bruderlebens das Bestreben, in einem größeren Maße, in einem stärkeren Maße in die Welt hinaustreten zu können. Das wurde ihm zunächst dadurch, daß er die Rechtswissenschaft studierte. Nur muß bedacht werden, daß in der damaligen Zeit, in der ersten Hälfte des 15. Jahrhunderts, die einzelnen Wissenschaften viel mehr Berührungspunkte miteinander hatten, als das später oder gar in unserer Zeit der Fall war und ist. So übte Nikolaus Cusanus eine Zeitlang die Rechtspraxis aus. Allein gerade die Zeit, in der er lebte, war ja eine solche, in der ein Chaotisches im sozialen Leben sich in alle Kreise hinein erstreckte. Und so wurde er bald der Rechtspraxis überdrüssig und ließ sich als Priester der katholischen Kirche einkleiden. Er war dasjenige, was er jeweilig geworden war, ganz. Und so war er auch jetzt ganz Priester der damaligen Papstkirche. Er wirkte so auf den verschiedenen geistlichen Stellen, die ihm anvertraut wurden, er wirkte aber insbesondere so auf dem Konzil zu Basel. Da stellte er sich an die Spitze der Minorität, jener Minorität, welche eigentlich zuletzt das Bestreben hatte, die absolute Macht des päpstlichen Stuhles aufrechtzuerhalten. Die Majorität, die zum größten Teil aus Bischöfen und Kardinälen des Westens bestand, sie strebte, ich möchte sagen, eine mehr demokratische Art der Kirchenverwaltung an. Der Papst sollte den Konzilien unterstellt werden. Es führte das ja zu der Spaltung des Konzils. Diejenigen, die Anhänger des Nikolaus Cusanus waren, verlegten den Konzilssitz nach dem Süden; die anderen blieben in Basel, stellten einen Gegenpapst auf. Aber Nikolaus blieb fest in seiner Verteidigung des absoluten Papsttums. Man kann sich, wenn man genügend Einsicht hat, wohl vorstellen, welche Empfindungen Nikolaus Cusanus dazu drängten, man kann sich vorstellen, wie er sich sagte: Dasjenige, was heute aus einer Mehrheit herauskommen kann, das kann doch nur gewissermaßen eine etwas sublimierte Art des allgemeinen Chaos werden, das wir schon haben. Dasjenige, was er wollte, war eine feste Hand, um Organisation und Ordnung herbeizuführen. Er wollte allerdings die Taten dieser festen Hand durchdrungen haben von Einsicht, aber er wollte doch diese feste Hand. Und diese Forderung machte er auch geltend, als er später, nach Mitteleuropa geschickt, für die Befestigung der Papstkirche eintrat. So ward er eigentlich, man möchte sagen, mit Selbstverständlichkeit dazu bestimmt, ein Kardinal der damaligen Papstkirche zu werden.

Ich sagte vorher, es ist etwas Merkwürdiges, daß wahrscheinlich Nikolaus sich selber sehr gut verstanden hat, daß aber der nachherige Beobachter Schwierigkeiten hat im Verständnis dieser Persönlichkeit. Das wird uns besonders klar, wenn wir nun den Verteidiger des absoluten Papsttums überall herumziehen sehen und in ihm finden — wenigstens wenn wir die Worte unmittelbar nehmen, die er gesprochen hat — einen fanatischen Verteidiger dieser päpstlich gefärbten Christenheit des Abendlandes, zum Beispiel gegen die hereinbrechende Türkengefahr der damaligen Zeit. Und es waren flammende Worte auf der einen Seite, die der dazumal schon im Heimlichen wahrscheinlich zum Kardinal ernannte Nikolaus Cusanus sprach gegen die Ungläubigen, flammende Worte, mit denen er aufforderte die europäische Zivilisation, Front zu machen gegen dasjenige, was von Asien herüberkam als Türken. Aber es wirkt wieder merkwürdig, wenn wir auf der anderen Seite eine Schrift von Nikolaus Cusanus in die Hand nehmen, die wahrscheinlich mitten in diesen fanatischen Kämpfen, die er gegen die Türken führte, entstanden ist, so daß wir uns vorstellen können: Da predigt Nikolaus Cusanus in der flammendsten Weise gegen die herandrängende Türkengefahr und stachelt die Gemüter auf, gegen diese Türkengefahr sich zu richten, Europas Zivilisation zu retten. Dann setzt er sich an den Schreibtisch hin und schreibt nieder eine Abhandlung darüber, wie im Grunde genommen Christen und Juden und Heiden und Mohammedaner alle, wenn man sie nur richtig versteht, erzogen werden können zu friedevollem Zusammenwirken, zu der Verehrung und Erkenntnis des einen, allmenschlichen Gottes, wie im Grunde genommen im Christen, Juden, Mohammedaner und Heiden ein Gemeinsames lebt, das nur herausgefunden zu werden braucht, um Friede unter allen Menschen zu stiften. Und so sehen wir ausfließen in der stillen Kammer dieser Persönlichkeit die friedevollste Stimmung gegenüber allen Religionen und Konfessionen, und wir sehen oder hören, wenn sie öffentlich spricht, die fanatischsten Worte, die zum Kampf auffordern.

Das sind solche Dinge, die es schwierig machen, eine Persönlichkeit wie Nikolaus Cusanus zu verstehen. Allein derjenige muß sie verstehen, der wirklich mit einsichtigem Blicke in die Zeit hineinschaut. Und man wird sie am leichtesten verstehen, wenn man sie herausversteht aus dem ganzen Gang der inneren Geistesentwickelung ihres Zeitalters. Wir wollen nicht kritisieren, wir wollen zunächst diesen äußeren, in sprudelnder Tätigkeit begriffenen Mann, der also wirkte, wie ich es geschildert habe, anschauen nach der einen Seite, und wollen jetzt einmal anschauen, was in seiner Seele lebte, wollen die zwei Seiten einfach nebeneinanderstellen.

Was in der Seele des Nikolaus Cusanus vorging, man kann es am besten beobachten, wenn man die Stimmung dieser Persönlichkeit studiert, in der sie war, als er zurückkehrte von einer Mission, die er im Auftrage des Papsttums in Konstantinopel auszuführen hatte, wo er zu wirken hatte für die Versöhnung der abendländischen und morgenländischen Kirche. Auf der Rückfahrt, als er auf dem Schiffe ist, im Anblicke des gestirnten Himmels, geht ihm auf der Grundgedanke, man könnte auch sagen, das Grundgefühl jener Schrift, die er dann 1440 veröffentlichte unter dem Titel: «De docta ignorantia» — Von der gelehrten Unwissenheit. - Welche Stimmung lebt sich in dieser «docta ignorantia» aus? Nun, der Kardinal Nikolaus Cusanus hat natürlich längst aufgenommen in seiner Seele alles dasjenige, was durch das Mittelalter hindurch an Geist-Erkenntnis getrieben worden ist. Der Kardinal Nikolaus Cusanus war wohl bewandert in alledem, was der wiedererstandene Platonismus und auch der wiedererstandene Aristotelismus im Mittelalter erarbeitet hatten. Der Kardinal Nikolaus Cusanus war natürlich tief bekannt mit alldem, wie zum Beispiel Thomas Aquinas gesprochen hat über geistige Welten eben so, wie wenn es den Menschenbegriffen das Natürlichste wäre, von der Sinneserkenntnis zur Geist-Erkenntnis aufzusteigen. Der Kardinal Nikolaus Cusanus verband mit alldem, was mittelalterliche Theologie war, eine gründliche Kenntnis desjenigen, was in der damaligen Zeit an mathematischen Erkenntnissen den Menschen zugänglich war. Nikolaus war ein außerordentlich guter Mathematiker, so daß sich das Gefüge seiner Seele zusammensetzte auf der einen Seite aus dem Bestreben, durch die theologischen Grundbegriffe sich zu erheben zu jener Geistwelt, die als göttliche sich dem Menschen offenbart; auf der anderen Seite lebte in dieser Seele alles dasjenige, was an innerer Denkdisziplin, an innerer Denkstrenge und auch an innerer Denksicherheit dem Menschen wird, wenn er sich in das mathematische Gebiet vertieft.

So war auf der einen Seite Nikolaus ein inniger und auf der anderen Seite ein sicherer Denker. Im Anblick des gestirnten Himmels, als er von Konstantinopel herüberfuhr nach dem mehr westlichen Europa, da löste sich dasjenige, was bisher in der charakterisierten Zweiheit dahinfloß, dasjenige, was bisher in seiner Seele als Stimmung gelebt hatte, in das Folgende. Er empfand von dieser Fahrt an die Gottheit als etwas außerhalb des menschlichen Begriffs- und Ideenwissens Liegendes. Er sagte sich: Mit unserem Begriffs- und Ideenwissen können wir hier auf Erden leben, wir können uns mit unserer Erkenntnis durch diese Begriffe und Ideen ausbreiten über dasjenige, was uns in den Reichen der Natur umgibt. Aber diese Begriffe werden lahmer und immer lahmer, wenn wir den Blick hinaufwenden wollen zu demjenigen, was sich als Göttliches offenbart. Und dasjenige, was in der Scholastik zwischen der menschlichen Erkenntnis und der Offenbarung als ein Abgrund sich aufgetan hatte aus einem ganz anderen Gesichtspunkte heraus, das wurde bei Nikolaus innerste Seelenstimmung, persönlichste Herzensangelegenheit. Er hat wohl oftmals in seiner Seele diesen Ausblick getan und in Gedanken den Weg gemacht, wie der Gedanke sich zuerst erstreckt über dasjenige, was uns in dem Reiche der Natur umgibt, wie der Gedanke dann sich erheben will von diesem Reiche der Natur zur Göttlichkeit der Gedanken, wie er da immer dünner und dünner wird und endlich vollständig in Nichts zerflattert und nun weiß: Jenseits dieses Nichts, in das er als Gedanke zerflattert ist, liegt nun erst die Gottheit. Und nur wenn der Mensch in inniger Liebe, die er abseits von gedanklichem Leben entwickelt, den Weg, den dieser Gedanke im Blicke durchmacht, noch ein wenig weiter machen kann, wenn die Liebe einen Vorsprung gewinnt über den Gedanken, dann kann diese Liebe sich hineinerstrecken in dasjenige Gebiet, wohin das Gedankenwissen nicht reicht. Und so wurde es Nikolaus Cusanus eine Herzensangelegenheit, hinzuweisen auf das eigentlich göttliche Gebiet als auf dasjenige, vor dem der menschliche Gedanke erlahmt, vor dem das menschliche Wissen in Nichts zerflattert: docta ignorantia — gelehrte Unwissenheit. Und wenn die Gelehrsamkeit, wenn das Wissen, so sagte sich Nikolaus Cusanus, im edelsten Sinne die Gestalt annimmt, daß es sich selber aufgibt in dem Momente, wo es den Geist erreichen will, dann wird dieses Wissen das Beste, dann wird es docta ignorantia. Und aus dieser Stimmung heraus veröffentlichte Nikolaus Cusanus 1440 eben seine «Docta ignorantia».

Wenden wir jetzt den Blick ein wenig von Nikolaus Cusanus ab und gehen wir in das einsame Kämmerlein eines dem Nikolaus Cusanus vorangehenden mittelalterlichen Mystikers. Ich habe ihn in meinem Buche über Mystik geschildert, soweit er für Geisteswissenschaft eben wichtig ist. Gehen wir in das Kämmerlein des Meisters Eckhart hinein. Wir stehen dann vor derjenigen Persönlichkeit, welche von der äußeren Kirche als Ketzer erklärt worden ist. Man kann die Schriften des Meisters Eckhart in der mannigfaltigsten Art durchlesen und sich an der Innigkeit dieser Eckartschen Mystik erfreuen. Aber man wird vielleicht am tiefsten ergriffen, wenn man öfter wiederkehrend zu einer Grundstimmung der Seele bei dem Meister Eckhart kommt. Ich möchte diese Grundstimmung also charakterisieren: Auch der Meister Eckhart, früher als Nikolaus Cusanus, ist durchdrungen von dem, was christliche Theologie des Mittelalters als Aufstieg zur Gottheit, zur geistigen Welt sucht. Wir können, wenn wir die Schriften des Meisters Eckhart studieren, in vielen Wendungen die thomistischen Wendungen wieder erkennen. Aber immer verfällt, indem sich die Seele dieses Meisters aus dem theologischen Denken heraus hingibt solchem Aufschwung nach der eigentlichen Geisteswelt, mit der aber diese Seele sich verbunden fühlt, immer verfällt diese Seele darauf, sich zu sagen: An dasjenige, was mein Innerstes ist, der göttliche Funke in meinem Innersten, an das komme ich mit all diesem Denken, mit all dieser Theologie nicht heran. Dieses Denken, diese Theologie, diese Ideen, sie geben mir da ein Etwas und da ein Etwas und da ein Etwas; überall dieses oder jenes Etwas. Aber nichts von allen diesen Etwas ist etwas, das ähnlich ist dem, was in meinem eigenen Inneren als der geist-göttliche Funke ist. Und so bin ich herausgeworfen aus alledem, was meine Seele mit Gedanken, was meine Seele zunächst auch mit Gefühlen und Erinnerungen erfüllt, aus allem Weltwissen, das ich bis in die höchsten Stufen aufnehmen kann. So bin ich herausgeworfen aus alledem, wenn ich das tiefste Wesen meiner Eigenheit suchen will. Ich bin in nichts, wenn ich dieses tiefste Wesen meiner Eigenheit suchen will. Ich habe gesucht und gesucht. Ich bin sie durchgegangen, diese Wege, die mir Ideen, die mir aus der Welt herausgeholte Empfindungen zuführen, und ich suchte auf diesen Wegen, auf denen ich ja vieles fand, mein Ich. Und auf dieser Suche nach dem Ich bin ich, ehe ich dieses Ich gefunden habe, welches zu suchen mich alles in den Reichen der Natur anleitete, in das «Nichts» gefallen.

Und so fühlte sich der Meister Eckhart bei seinem Suchen nach dem Ich in das Nichts hineingefallen. Und aus diesem Gefühle heraus tönt ein Wort dieses mittelalterlichen Mystikers, das das Herz, das die Seele tief, tief berührt. Es ist das: Und ich versenke mich in das Nichts der Gottheit und bin ewiglich durch dieses Nichts, durch dieses Nicht ein Ich. Ich versenke mich in das Nichts der Gottheit und werde in dem Nicht ein Icht, ein Ich. Ich muß mir in Ewigkeit aus dem «Nicht» der Gottheit das Ich holen. In aller Stille tritt uns bei diesem Mystiker ein gewaltiges Wort entgegen. Und warum ertönte in der innersten Herzenskammer dieses Mystikers dann, wenn er aus dem Weltsuchen heraus in das Ich-Suchen hineinkommen wollte, dieser Drang nach dem Nicht, in dem Nicht das Ich zu finden, warum? Ja, gehen wir zurück in frühere Zeiten, dann finden wir, daß in aller Erkenntnis der früheren Zeiten beim Hineinschauen in die Seele lebte die Möglichkeit, daß dieser Innenschau von innen entgegenleuchte Geist. Das war noch die Erbschaft aus uralter Pneumatologie, von der hier noch zu sprechen sein wird. Wenn zum Beispiel, sagen wir, Thomas Aquinas hineinschaute in die Seele, so fand er innerhalb dieser Seele Geistiges webend und lebend. Nicht in der Seele selbst, aber in dem, was als Geistiges in der Seele webt und lebt, suchte Thomas von Aquino, suchten seine Vorgänger das eigentliche Ich. Sie blickten durch die Seele zum Geist, und im Geiste fanden sie das Ich als das ihnen gottgegebene Ich. Und sie sagten, wenigstens hätten sie es immer sagen können, wenn sie es auch nicht immer ausgesprochen haben, sie sagten: Ich dringe in das Innere meiner Seele, schaue in den Geist und finde in dem Geist das Ich. - Aber das war in der Menschheitsentwickelung geschehen, daß sie bei ihrem Fortschritt hin nach dem Reiche der Freiheit die Fähigkeit verloren hatte, beim Nach-innen-Schauen den Geist zu finden.

Noch nicht so wie der Meister Eckhart hätte etwa Johannes Scotus Erigena sprechen können. Johannes Scotus Erigena hätte eben gesagt: Ich blicke in mein Inneres. Wenn ich die Wege durchmessen habe, die mich durch die Reiche der Außenwelt geführt haben, entdecke ich in meinem Inneren, in meiner Seele den Geist und finde dadurch das ‘die Seele durchwebende und durchlebende Ich. In die Gottheit als Geist versenke ich mich und finde Ich. — Es war einfach Menschenschicksal, daß derselbe Weg, der in früheren Jahrhunderten noch für die Menschheit gangbar war, eben nicht mehr gangbar war zur Zeit des Meisters Eckhart. Indem der Meister Eckhart dieselben Wege ging wie Johannes Scotus Erigena oder auch nur dieselben Wege wie Thomas von Aquino, versenkte er sich nicht in Gott den Geist, er versenkte sich in das Nicht der Gottheit und mußte aus dem Nicht das Ich herausholen. Das aber heißt nichts Geringeres, als: Die Menschheit hat bei der Innenschau den Ausblick nach dem Geist verloren. Und der Meister Eckhart holt aus der tiefen Innigkeit seines Herzens heraus aus dem Nicht das Ich. Und sein Nachfolger, Nikolaus Cusanus, gesteht mit aller Bestimmtheit ein: Alles dasjenige, was uns an Gedanken und Ideen die Wege leitet bei dem vorherigen Suchen, es erlahmt, es wird zunichte, wenn man das Geistgebiet betreten will. Die Seele hat die Möglichkeit verloren, in ihrem Inneren das Geistgebiet zu finden. Und Nikolaus Cusanus sagt sich: Wenn ich empfinde all dasjenige, was mir Theologie geben kann, so werde ich hineingebracht in dieses Nichts des menschlichen Denkens, und ich muß mich vereinigen mit dem, was in diesem Nichts lebt, um in der docta ignorantia das Erleben des Geistes erst haben zu können. — Dann aber läßt sich dieses Wissen, dieses Erkennen ja nicht aussprechen. Dann muß der Mensch ja verstummen, wenn er auf dem Punkte angelangt ist, in dem sich durch docta ignorantia das Erleben des Geistigen ergibt zunächst.

Nikolaus Cusanus ist also derjenige, der die Theologie des Mittelalters in seiner eigenen persönlichen Entwickelung an ihrem Ende empfindet und einläuft in die docta ignorantia. Aber er ist zugleich ein sicherer Mathematiker. Er hat die innere Denkstrenge in sich aufgenommen, welche aus der Beschäftigung mit dem Mathematischen herkommt. Aber ich möchte sagen: er ist innerlich scheu davor geworden, dasjenige, was er an solcher mathematischer Sicherheit in seiner Seele aufgenommen hat, anzuwenden da, wo sich ihm die docta ignorantia ergeben hatte. Er versucht mit allerlei mathematischen Symbolen und Formeln sich zaghaft symbolisierend zu nähern dem Gebiete, in das er durch seine docta ignorantia geführt wird. Aber er ist sich immer bewußt: Das sind Symbole, die mir die Mathematik liefert. Diese Mathematik habe ich mir in meiner Seele errungen. Sie ist mir als das Letzte geblieben aus dem alten Wissen. Ihre Sicherheit kann ich nicht so bezweifeln wie die Sicherheit der "Theologie, denn ich erlebe die mathematische Sicherheit, indem ich Mathematik in mir aufnehme. Aber zu gleicher Zeit ist die andere Last in ihm so schwer geworden, die sich ihm aus der Nullität der Theologie ergeben hatte, daß er sich nicht getraut, die mathematische Sicherheit anders als in Symbolen auf das Gebiet der docta ignorantia anzuwenden. Damit schließt eine Epoche der menschlichen Denktätigkeit. Nikolaus Cusanus ist fast schon so in seiner inneren Seelenstimmung Mathematiker, wie später Cartesius, aber er wagt es nicht, dasjenige, was sich ihm so charakterisiert hatte, wie er es in seiner Docta ignorantia dargestellt hat, in mathematischer Sicherheit zu ergreifen. Er empfand gewissermaßen, wie sich das Geistgebiet von der Menschheit zurückgezogen hatte, wie es immer mehr und mehr in Fernen hin entschwunden ist, wie es nicht zu erlangen ist mit dem menschlichen Wissen, wie man unwissend werden muß im allerinnersten Sinne, um in Liebe sich zu vereinigen mit diesem Geistgebiete.

Diese Stimmung strömt aus von demjenigen, was man herauslesen kann aus der 1440 erschienenen «Docta ignorantia» von Nikolaus Cusanus. Die Menschheit der abendländischen Zivilisation hatte sich gewissermaßen so entwickelt, daß sie einstmals glaubte, das Geistgebiet in naher Perspektive vor sich zu haben. Dann entfernte sich den betrachtenden und beobachtenden Menschen dieses Geistgebiet immer weiter und weiter und entschwand. Und die docta ignorantia von 1440 ist das offene Eingeständnis, daß der gewöhnliche menschliche Erkenntnisblick der damaligen Zeit nicht mehr hineinreicht in jene perspektivischen Fernen, in die sich das Geistgebiet von dem Menschen zurückgezogen hat. Die sicherste Wissenschaft, die Mathematik, wagt es nur noch an dasjenige, was man nicht mehr sieht innerlich seelisch, mit symbolischen Formeln heranzutreten. Und es ist nun so, als ob eben dieses Geistgebiet, immer weiter und weiter perspektivisch sich entfernend, der europäischen Zivilisation in unmittelbarer Art entschwunden wäre, aber rückwärts nachgekommen wäre ein anderes Gebiet, dasjenige Gebiet, was jetzt europäische Zivilisation in ihre Neigungen, in ihre Beobachtungsgabe aufnimmt, das Gebiet der sinnlichen Welt. Und was 1440 Nikolaus Cusanus schüchtern symbolisch getan hat mit der Mathematik in bezug auf das Geistgebiet, das ihm entschwindet, das wendet kühn und trotzig Nikolaus Kopernikus auf die äußere Sinneswelt an: das mathematische Denken, das mathematische Wissen. Und indem 1440 erschienen ist die «Docta ignorantia» mit dem Eingeständnis, selbst mit der sicheren Mathematik erblickst du nicht mehr das Geistgebiet, erscheint 1543 «De revolutionibus orbium coelestium» von Nikolaus Kopernikus, wo mit schroffer Kühnheit das Weltenall so vorgestellt wird, daß es sich der sicheren Mathematik ergeben muß.

Denken wir das Geistgebiet so weit ferne von der menschlichen Erkenntnis, daß selbst die Mathematik nur in stammelnden Symbolen sich ihm nähern kann - so sprach es 1440 Nikolaus Cusanus aus; denken wir das Mathematische so stark und so sicher, daß es das Sinnliche bezwingt und in mathematischen Formeln die Sinneswelt wissenschaftlich und erkennend zum Ausdrucke gebracht werden kann - so sprach 1543 Nikolaus Kopernikus zu der europäischen Zivilisation. Ein Jahrhundert liegt dazwischen. In diesem Jahrhunderte ist die abendländische Naturwissenschaft geboren worden. Vorher war sie im Embryonalzustand. Und wer verstehen will, was zur Geburt dieser abendländischen Naturwissenschaft geführt hat, der muß seinen Blick einsichtig lenken auf jenes Jahrhundert, das zwischen der «Docta ignorantia und «De revolutionibus orbium coelestium» liegt. Welche Befruchtungen da für das menschliche Seelenleben geschehen, welchen Entsagungen sich das menschliche Seelenleben hingeben muß, das muß studiert werden, wenn man den Sinn der Naturwissenschaft auch heute noch verstehen will. So weit muß zurückgegangen werden. Da muß begonnen werden und nur ein wenig zurückgeschaut werden auf den Embryonalzustand, der allerdings dem Nikolaus Cusanus voranging, wenn man heute noch in der richtigen Weise drinnenstehen will in naturwissenschaftlicher Gesinnung und wenn man richtig sehen will, was Naturwissenschaft der Menschheit leisten kann, wie auch aus Naturwissenschaft ein neues geistiges Leben erblühen kann. Davon, meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden, werde ich dann morgen sprechen.

First Lecture

My dear friends and distinguished guests! You have gathered here from far and wide this Christmas to work and reflect within the Goetheanum on matters relating to spiritual science, and I would like to extend a warm welcome and heartfelt Christmas greetings to all of you, especially to those who have come from afar and are interested in our work. What I myself, through my manifold work, will be able to offer, especially in the present time, can only be suggestions in one direction or another. But what may arise alongside these suggestions, which will come through my lectures and those of others, is a harmonious feeling and thinking among the personalities who find themselves within our Goetheanum. And so I may well hope that those friends who always or at least for a longer period of time stay here at the Goetheanum and are permanently connected with it in some way will welcome those who have come from outside with warmth. For it is in this harmonious cooperation, thinking together, and feeling together that what should stand as the soul of all work at the Goetheanum should develop: the recognition and feeling of the spiritual weaving and essence of the world, the working out of this spiritual essence and weaving of the world. And the more what must shine ahead of us as an ideal becomes reality, namely that the coexistence of individuals interested in the anthroposophical worldview also becomes a real social cooperation and interaction, the more what is to come to light here can truly come to light.

In view of these hopes, my dear friends, I warmly welcome all those who have come from afar, those who are permanently connected with the Goetheanum.

What I will try to offer in these course lectures in the form of individual suggestions may not seem to have anything to do with the Christmas spirit and Christmas feelings at first glance, but I believe that inwardly they are connected. For within everything that is to be worked out at the Goetheanum, we are striving for a certain rebirth, a spiritual insight, a feeling dedicated to the spirit, a will carried out of the spirit. And this is, albeit in a later reflection, in a certain sense also the birth of something supersensible and spiritual, symbolizing in a real sense the Christmas idea, the birth of that spiritual being that has brought about a new fertilization of all human development on earth. And so I would nevertheless like to see these reflections as having the character of a Christmas reflection.

If the subject is intended to highlight the moment in time when scientific thinking entered modern human development, this does not contradict the intention I have just expressed, for anyone who remembers what I wrote many years ago in my book: “Mysticism in the Dawn of Modern Spiritual Life and Its Relationship to the Scientific Way of Thinking,” will be able to say that what applies to me is what I would like to call the observation of the embryonic life of a new spirituality within the shell of scientific modes of thinking. My opinion, based on objective observation, must be that the scientific path taken by modern humanity, when correctly understood, is not a mistaken one, but a correct one; but that, when viewed correctly, it carries within itself the seed of a new spiritual knowledge and a new spiritual activity of the will. And it is from this point of view that I would like to give these lectures. They are not intended to emphasize opposition to natural science, but rather to find seeds for a spiritual life in the fruitful scientific research of recent times. I have said this at various times and in various ways. And individual lectures that I have given in various fields of scientific thinking also show in detail the path that I want to characterize more broadly in these lectures.

Anyone who wants to understand the true meaning of modern scientific research and the human way of thinking behind it, or at least what is possible behind it, must go back several centuries. For it is easy to misunderstand the inner essence of scientific thinking if one tries to grasp it solely from the immediate present. One can only learn about the true nature of scientific research by tracing its development over several centuries. And when we attempt to do so, we are thrown back to a time that I have often described as one of the most important in the entire recent development of humanity, we are thrown back to the 14th and 15th centuries, to that time when a completely different kind of human imagination, still active throughout the Middle Ages, was replaced by the first dawn of the thinking in which we now find ourselves fully immersed. And in this dawn of the modern era, when we look back, we encounter a personality in whom we can see, as it were, everything that is the transition from an earlier way of thinking to a later one. We encounter him in this dawn, in which, however, much still lives on from memories of what has gone before: Nicholas of Cusa, who on the one hand was a great churchman and on the other one of the greatest thinkers of all time. And we encounter him in Cardinal Nikolaus Cusanus, who was born in 1401 in western Germany as the son of a boatman and winegrower and died in 1464 as a persecuted churchman. In him we encounter a personality who probably understood himself extremely well, but who, in a certain sense, makes it extremely difficult for later observers to understand him.

The future Cardinal Nikolaus Cusanus was born as the son of a winegrower and boatman in the Rhine region of western Germany. He received his early education in a community known as “The Brothers of the Common Life.” This is where he formed his first impressions of youth. These impressions were of a peculiar nature. Certainly, there was already something of human ambition in the boy Nicholas, but it was tempered by an extraordinary genius for seeing what was necessary in the reality of social life, that is, in the social present of Nicholas of Cusa. The Brothers of the Common Life were a community of people who were dissatisfied from the depths of their hearts with both the institutions of the Church and with what was then more or less in opposition to the Church within the Church; they were also dissatisfied with monasticism and religious orders.

The brothers of the common life were, in a certain sense, mystical revolutionaries. They wanted to achieve everything they considered their ideal solely through the internalization of a peaceful life lived in human brotherhood. They did not want a rule based on violence, as the external Church had and at that time truly did not realize in any sympathetic form. But they also did not want to become unworldly like the members of the monastic orders. They attached great importance to outward cleanliness, and they insisted that each of them fulfill his duty in outward life, in the details of the profession in which he was engaged, faithfully and diligently. They did not want to withdraw from the world; they only wanted to withdraw into the depths of their souls in a life devoted to real work, in order to find depth and inwardness of religious and spiritual feeling alongside the external reality of life, which they recognized as the full practice of life. And so this community was one that above all cultivated human qualities as the atmosphere in which a certain godliness and spirituality were to live. In Deventer, Holland, Nicholas of Cusa was educated within this community. The other members, at least most of this community of brothers living together, were mostly people who performed their duties in narrow circles and then, one might say, sought their way to God and the spiritual world in the quiet of their chambers.

Nicholas was a person who was predisposed to stand up and organize people in social life through the power of his knowledge and the power of his will, which sprang from that knowledge. And so the inner urge that was inherent in Nicholas of Cusa soon added to the intimacy of the brotherhood the desire to be able to step out into the world to a greater and greater extent. This came about initially through his study of law. However, it must be borne in mind that in those days, in the first half of the 15th century, the individual sciences had much more contact with each other than was the case later or even in our time. Thus, Nicholas of Cusa practiced law for a time. However, the period in which he lived was one in which social life was chaotic in all circles. He soon grew weary of legal practice and took holy orders in the Catholic Church. He was completely what he had become. And so he was now also wholly a priest of the papal church of that time. He worked in the various spiritual positions entrusted to him, but he was particularly influential at the Council of Basel. There he placed himself at the head of the minority, the minority that ultimately sought to maintain the absolute power of the papal throne. The majority, consisting mainly of bishops and cardinals from the West, sought, I would say, a more democratic form of church administration. The pope was to be subordinate to the councils. This led to the split in the council. Those who were followers of Nicholas of Cusa moved the seat of the council to the south; the others remained in Basel and set up an antipope. But Nicholas remained firm in his defense of absolute papacy. If you have enough insight, you can well imagine what feelings drove Nicholas of Cusa to this; you can imagine him saying to himself: What can emerge from a majority today can only be a somewhat sublimated form of the general chaos that we already have. What he wanted was a firm hand to bring about organization and order. He wanted the actions of this firm hand to be imbued with insight, but he still wanted this firm hand. And he also asserted this demand when he was later sent to Central Europe to support the consolidation of the papal church. So it was, one might say, a matter of course that he was destined to become a cardinal of the papal church of that time.

I said earlier that it is strange that Nicholas probably understood himself very well, but that later observers have difficulty understanding his personality. This becomes particularly clear when we see the defender of absolute papacy everywhere and find in him—at least if we take the words he spoke at face value—a fanatical defender of this papal-colored Christianity of the West, for example against the encroaching Turkish threat of that time. And there were fiery words on the one side, spoken by Nicholas of Cusa, who had probably already been secretly appointed cardinal at that time, against the infidels, fiery words with which he called on European civilization to take a stand against what was coming over from Asia in the form of the Turks. But it seems strange again when we pick up a writing by Nicholas of Cusa that was probably written in the midst of these fanatical battles he waged against the Turks, so that we can imagine: Nicholas of Cusa preaches in the most fiery manner against the approaching Turkish threat and incites people to take action against this Turkish threat in order to save European civilization. Then he sits down at his desk and writes a treatise on how, when properly understood, Christians, Jews, pagans, and Muslims can all be educated to live together peacefully, to worship and recognize the one universal God, since, in essence, Christians, Jews, Muslims, and pagans, which only needs to be discovered in order to bring about peace among all people. And so we see the most peaceful attitude toward all religions and denominations flowing out of the quiet chamber of this personality, and we see or hear, when he speaks in public, the most fanatical words calling for battle.

These are the kinds of things that make it difficult to understand a personality like Nicholas of Cusa. Only those who look at the times with a truly discerning eye can understand him. And it is easiest to understand him when one understands him in the context of the entire course of the inner spiritual development of his age. We do not want to criticize; we want first to look at this outward man, who was engaged in effervescent activity and who acted as I have described, and then we want to look at what lived in his soul, simply placing the two sides side by side.

What was going on in the soul of Nicholas of Cusa can best be observed by studying the mood of this personality when he returned from a mission he had to carry out on behalf of the papacy in Constantinople, where he had to work for the reconciliation of the Western and Eastern churches. On the return journey, as he is on the ship, gazing at the starry sky, the fundamental idea occurs to him, one might even say the fundamental feeling of that work which he then published in 1440 under the title: “De docta ignorantia” — On Learned Ignorance. What mood is expressed in this “docta ignorantia”? Well, Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa had, of course, long since absorbed into his soul everything that had been achieved in spiritual knowledge throughout the Middle Ages. Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa was well versed in all that the revived Platonism and Aristotelianism had accomplished in the Middle Ages. Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa was naturally deeply familiar with everything, such as Thomas Aquinas's discourse on spiritual worlds, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for human beings to ascend from sensory knowledge to spiritual knowledge. Cardinal Nicholas of Cusa combined everything that medieval theology was with a thorough knowledge of what was accessible to people at that time in terms of mathematical knowledge. Nicholas was an exceptionally good mathematician, so that the structure of his soul was composed, on the one hand, of the striving to rise through theological concepts to that spiritual world which reveals itself to man as divine; on the other hand, everything that becomes available to man in terms of inner discipline of thought, inner rigor of thought, and also inner certainty of thought when he immerses himself in the field of mathematics lived in this soul.

Thus, on the one hand, Nicholas was a profound thinker and, on the other, a confident one. As he gazed at the starry sky while traveling from Constantinople to western Europe, what had previously existed in the duality described above, what had previously lived in his soul as a mood, dissolved into the following. From this journey onwards, he perceived the Godhead as something beyond human conceptual and intellectual knowledge. He said to himself: With our conceptual and intellectual knowledge, we can live here on earth; with our knowledge through these concepts and ideas, we can expand beyond what surrounds us in the realms of nature. But these concepts become weaker and weaker when we try to lift our gaze to that which reveals itself as divine. And what had opened up in scholasticism as an abyss between human knowledge and revelation became, from a completely different point of view, the innermost mood of Nicholas' soul, the most personal matter of his heart. He must have often taken this view in his soul and traced in his mind the path by which thought first extends over what surrounds us in the realm of nature, how thought then wants to rise from this realm of nature to the divinity of thoughts, how it becomes thinner and thinner and finally dissolves completely into nothingness, and now knows: beyond this nothingness into which it has dissolved as a thought, there now lies the divinity. And only when man, in the intimate love that he develops apart from intellectual life, can continue a little further along the path that this thought takes in his mind, when love gains a head start over thought, can this love extend into the realm where intellectual knowledge does not reach. And so it became a matter close to Nicholas of Cusa's heart to point to the truly divine realm as that before which human thought falters, before which human knowledge flutters away into nothingness: docta ignorantia — learned ignorance. And when scholarship, when knowledge, said Nicholas of Cusa, takes on the noblest form, that it abandons itself at the moment when it wants to reach the spirit, then this knowledge becomes the best, then it becomes docta ignorantia. And it was in this mood that Nicholas of Cusa published his “Docta ignorantia” in 1440.

Let us now turn our attention away from Nicholas of Cusa and enter the lonely chamber of a medieval mystic who preceded him. I have described him in my book on mysticism, insofar as he is important for spiritual science. Let us enter the chamber of Meister Eckhart. We then stand before a personality who was declared a heretic by the external Church. One can read Meister Eckhart's writings in the most varied ways and delight in the intimacy of Eckhart's mysticism. But one is perhaps most deeply moved when one repeatedly returns to a fundamental mood of the soul in Meister Eckhart. I would like to characterize this basic mood as follows: Master Eckhart, like Nicholas of Cusa before him, is also imbued with what medieval Christian theology sought as the ascent to the divine, to the spiritual world. When we study the writings of Master Eckhart, we can recognize Thomistic turns of phrase in many passages. But always, as the soul of this master surrenders itself out of theological thinking to such an ascent to the actual spiritual world with which this soul feels connected, this soul always falls back on saying to itself: I cannot reach that which is my innermost being, the divine spark in my innermost being, with all this thinking, with all this theology. This thinking, this theology, these ideas give me something here and something there and something else there; everywhere this or that something. But none of these somethings is anything like what is in my own innermost being as the spiritual-divine spark. And so I am cast out of everything that fills my soul with thoughts, that initially also fills my soul with feelings and memories, out of all the worldly knowledge that I can absorb to the highest levels. So I am cast out of all this when I want to search for the deepest essence of my individuality. I am nothing when I want to search for this deepest essence of my individuality. I have searched and searched. I have gone through these paths that lead me to ideas, to sensations taken from the world, and I have searched for my self on these paths, where I found many things. And in this search for the self, before I found this self, which led me to search in all the realms of nature, I fell into “nothingness.”

And so Meister Eckhart felt that he had fallen into nothingness in his search for the self. And out of this feeling comes a word from this medieval mystic that touches the heart and the soul deeply, deeply. It is this: And I sink into the nothingness of the Godhead and am eternally, through this nothingness, through this not, an I. I sink into the nothingness of the Godhead and become, in the not, an I, an I. I must draw the I out of the “not” of the Godhead for all eternity. In all silence, a powerful word confronts us in this mystic. And why did this urge to find the self in nothingness resound in the innermost chamber of this mystic's heart when he wanted to move from searching the world to searching the self? Yes, if we go back to earlier times, we find that in all the knowledge of earlier times, when looking into the soul, there lived the possibility that this introspection would be illuminated from within by spirit. This was still the legacy of ancient pneumatology, which will be discussed here later. When, for example, Thomas Aquinas looked into the soul, he found something spiritual weaving and living within it. Not in the soul itself, but in what weaves and lives as spirit in the soul, Thomas Aquinas and his predecessors sought the true self. They looked through the soul to the spirit, and in the spirit they found the self as the self given to them by God. And they said, at least they could always have said it, even if they did not always say it: I penetrate into the innermost part of my soul, look into the spirit, and find the I in the spirit. But what happened in the course of human evolution was that, in its progress toward the realm of freedom, humanity lost the ability to find the spirit by looking inward.

Not yet like Meister Eckhart could Johannes Scotus Erigena have spoken. Johannes Scotus Erigena would have said: I look into my inner being. When I have traversed the paths that have led me through the realms of the outer world, I discover the spirit within my inner being, in my soul, and thereby find the “I” that permeates and animates the soul. I immerse myself in the divinity as spirit and find myself. — It was simply human destiny that the same path that was still viable for humanity in earlier centuries was no longer viable at the time of Meister Eckhart. By following the same path as John Scotus Erigena, or even just the same path as Thomas Aquinas, Meister Eckhart did not immerse himself in God the Spirit, he immersed himself in the nothingness of the deity and had to extract the self from nothingness. But this means nothing less than that humanity has lost sight of the spirit in its introspection. And Meister Eckhart brings the I out of nothingness from the depths of his heart. And his successor, Nicholas of Cusa, admits with all certainty: Everything that guides us in our previous search in the form of thoughts and ideas weakens and becomes nothing when we want to enter the realm of the spirit. The soul has lost the ability to find the spiritual realm within itself. And Nicholas of Cusa says to himself: When I perceive all that theology can give me, I am brought into this nothingness of human thought, and I must unite myself with that which lives in this nothingness in order to be able to experience the spirit in docta ignorantia. But then this knowledge, this recognition, cannot be expressed. Then man must fall silent when he has reached the point where, through docta ignorantia, the experience of the spiritual first arises.

Nicholas of Cusa is thus the one who, in his own personal development, senses the end of medieval theology and enters into docta ignorantia. But he is also a skilled mathematician. He has absorbed the inner rigor of thought that comes from his preoccupation with mathematics. But I would like to say that he has become inwardly shy about applying the mathematical certainty he has absorbed into his soul where docta ignorantia has revealed itself to him. He tentatively attempts to approach the realm into which his docta ignorantia has led him using all kinds of mathematical symbols and formulas. But he is always aware that these are symbols provided by mathematics. I have acquired this mathematics in my soul. It is all that remains to me of my old knowledge. I cannot doubt its certainty in the same way as I doubt the certainty of “theology,” because I experience mathematical certainty by absorbing mathematics into myself. But at the same time, the other burden that had arisen for him from the nullity of theology had become so heavy that he did not dare to apply mathematical certainty to the realm of docta ignorantia in any way other than in symbols. This marks the end of an era of human thought. In his inner mood, Nikolaus Cusanus is almost as much a mathematician as Cartesius later became, but he does not dare to grasp in mathematical certainty that which had so characterized him, as he had described in his Docta ignorantia. He felt, in a sense, how the realm of the spirit had withdrawn from humanity, how it had disappeared further and further into the distance, how it cannot be attained with human knowledge, how one must become ignorant in the innermost sense in order to unite with this realm of the spirit in love.

This mood emanates from what can be gleaned from Nikolaus Cusanus' Docta ignorantia, published in 1440. The humanity of Western civilization had developed in such a way that it once believed it had the spiritual realm within its immediate reach. Then this spiritual realm moved further and further away from the observing and contemplating human being and disappeared. And the docta ignorantia of 1440 is the open admission that the ordinary human faculty of knowledge at that time no longer reached into those distant perspectives into which the spiritual realm had withdrawn from human beings. The most reliable science, mathematics, dares only to approach what can no longer be seen inwardly, in the soul, with symbolic formulas. And it is now as if this very spiritual realm, receding further and further into the distance, had disappeared from European civilization in an immediate way, but had been followed backwards by another realm, the realm that European civilization now takes up in its inclinations, in its power of observation, the realm of the sensual world. And what Nicholas of Cusa timidly and symbolically did in 1440 with mathematics in relation to the spiritual realm that was disappearing from him, Nicholas Copernicus boldly and defiantly applied to the external sensory world: mathematical thinking, mathematical knowledge. And just as in 1440 the “Docta ignorantia” appeared with the admission that even with certain mathematics you can no longer see the realm of the spirit, in 1543 Nikolaus Kopernikus' “De revolutionibus orbium coelestium” appeared, in which the universe is presented with such abrupt boldness that it must surrender to certain mathematics.

If we think of the realm of the mind as so far removed from human knowledge that even mathematics can only approach it in stammering symbols—as Nikolaus Cusanus said in 1440— Let us imagine mathematics to be so powerful and so certain that it conquers the senses and can express the sensory world scientifically and cognitively in mathematical formulas—so spoke Nicolaus Copernicus to European civilization in 1543. A century lies between them. In this century, Western natural science was born. Before that, it was in an embryonic state. And anyone who wants to understand what led to the birth of Western natural science must turn their gaze to that century that lies between “Docta ignorantia” and “De revolutionibus orbium coelestium.” What fertilization took place there for the human soul, what renunciations the human soul had to make, must be studied if one wants to understand the meaning of natural science even today. We must go back that far. That is where we must begin, looking back only a little to the embryonic state that preceded Nicholas of Cusa, if we want to remain true to the scientific spirit today and see clearly what natural science can do for humanity and how a new spiritual life can blossom from natural science. I will speak about this tomorrow, ladies and gentlemen.