The Rudolf Steiner Archive

There is nothing in the experience of the “I” itself by the human being that is stimulated by a sensory process. On the other hand, the I incorporates the results of the sensory processes into its own experience and builds the structure of its inner being, the actual “I-human”, from them. This “I-human” thus consists entirely of experiences that originate outside the I and yet persist in the I after the corresponding sensory experiences. They can therefore be transformed into ego experiences. We can gain an idea of how this happens by looking at the experiences of the so-called sense of touch. In this sense, nothing comes from an object in the external world into the ego experiences. The ego, so to speak, radiates its own essence to the point of contact with the external object and then allows this own essence to return in proportion to the touch. The returning own essence forms the content of the tactile perception. Why does the I not immediately recognize the tactile perception as its own content? Because this content has received a counter-impact from the other side, from the outside, and now returns as this impact has shaped it from the outside world. The I-content thus returns with the imprint it has received from the outside. Thus, the I receives a certain peculiarity of the external world in the nature of its own content. The fact that these are truly inner I-experiences, which have only taken on the peculiarity of the external world, can only be determined by judgment. Now, suppose that the I's experience cannot come into contact with the external object. The external object radiates its essence; and the I-experience must recoil from the contact. Then, within the I, an experience similar to the sense of touch arises; only that, through the weaker resistance of the I, something like an influx from the outside occurs in its experience. In fact, the experience of smell can be characterized as such a process. If the impact from outside is so strong that the external radiation digs into the experience of the I, then the influx from outside can happen, and only when the inner experience, so to speak, puts up resistance can it close itself off from the nature of the outside world. But then it has absorbed the current from outside and now carries it within itself as its own inner essence. The sense of taste can be characterized in this way. But if the I does not apply its own original experience to external existence, but instead applies to it the kind of entity that it has itself taken in from outside, then an inner experience can be imprinted from the outside that has itself originally been taken in from the outside. The external world then imprints itself on an inner experience that has itself only been internalized from an external source. This is how the sense of sight presents itself. With it, it is as if the external world were dealing with itself within the experiences of the I. It is as if the external world first sends a part of its essence into the human being and then imprints its own nature on this part. One now further assumes that the external world, with what it has sent into the inner being as a sense organ, completely fills the I-experience, as it were; then the inner being will relive the peculiarity of an external event in the sense perception, although inner experience and external world are juxtaposed. And a radiance from the outer world will then reveal itself as something that is similar to an inner experience. The I will experience the outer and inner as similar. This is the case with the sense of warmth. Now compare the experiences of the sense of warmth with the life process of warming. An impression of warmth must be recognized as something similar to the warmth experienced within and filling the inner self.

With the sense of smell, taste and sight, we can speak of an influx of the outer world into the experiences of the self. Through the sense of warmth, the inner life is filled with the character of the outer world. A sense of the inner life manifests itself in the sense of equilibrium, the sense of one's own movement and the sense of life. Through them, the self experiences its inner physical fulfillment.

Another takes place in the sense of hearing. There the external being not only allows the I-experiences to approach it as in the sense of touch; nor does it dig into them as in the sense of smell, taste and sight, but it allows itself to be irradiated, as it were, by the I-experiences; it allows them to approach it. And only then does it counter them with its own forces. The I must thereby experience something that is like a spreading out into the external world, like a laying of these I-experiences outwards. Such a relationship can be recognized by the sense of hearing. (Those who do not make abstract comparisons will not object that, for example, such a spreading out also takes place with the sense of sight. The perception of sound is of a fundamentally different nature than the perception of sight. Color does not contain the sense of self in the same sense as sound.) This spreading of the sense of self into the environment is even more pronounced in the sense of sound and in the sense of concept.

In order to characterize the astral human being, it was necessary to point out the trinity of image-sensation, desire and impulse of movement. The “I-human being”, insofar as he is directly experienced in his sensory processes, shows himself as a unity. All sensory experiences are only, as the preceding considerations show, differently modified or graded I-experiences. In the experience of the I itself, the human being is in direct relationship with the supersensible world. The other I-experiences are mediated to him through organs. And through the organs, the I-experiences reveal themselves in the diversity of the sense fields. Now, with two organs, the sense of concept and the sense of sound, one can easily follow the development of the sense ability to a certain degree. When a concept is perceived, the concepts acquired in the person's previous life prove to be what absorbs the new concept. A person proves to be understanding of a concept that approaches him to the extent that he has previously absorbed this or that concept. In the understanding of a concept, there is therefore an opening of the person to the outside and a sinking of what has been absorbed into the structure of the already existing concept organism. The life that unfolds there blossoms outwards and takes root in the conceptual organism. A similar thing happens for the sense of sound. A person is receptive to a new sound meaning to the extent that he has already acquired other sound meanings. The human being really carries a conceptual and a sound organism within him. Both must be present before the I-experiences can take place through conceptual and sound organisms. The I-human being cannot bring about the creation of this sound and conceptual organism through forces that lie in the sense life. And a third thing is necessary. The I unfolds its experiencing in all directions, as it were; it cannot experience itself in this experiencing. It must confront its own experiencing with something that is itself an experience of the self. It confronts itself as a sensation. We see, then, that the sense of 'I', the experiences of the sense of concept and the sense of sound, are brought to the 'I' by three organisms. We can count the 'I' organism as a fourth. If we keep to the image chosen above, we can say that the experience of the I unfolds on all sides; it is rooted on one side in a supersensible world that is like itself and strives into the conceptual and phonetic organisms in such a way that its own experience grows towards it, as if it were bringing the I-organism, the conceptual and phonetic organisms to full bloom, like a flower. If we imagine the human being as a being of the sensory world, as the direction characterized is incorporated in it, we must think of the contrast between above and below. “From top to bottom” is a direction in which we can imagine the development of I-experience; from “bottom to top” this development is opposed by the I-organism, towards which the I-experiences grow. Just as the leaves attach to the leaf stalk of a plant, unfolding from bottom to top, so the structures of the conceptual and phonetic organisms attach to the ego organism from top to bottom. If we now say, as is justified from the above, that the original ego experience unfolds out of a supersensible world, then we can assume that for the formation of the ego, conceptual and phonetic organisms, their coming into being, forces are at work which possess the same material as is present in the I-experience. However, they build this material into forms that must already be there when the I-experience is perceived by the senses. It is therefore self-evident that human ego-experience is one that flows from a supersensible world, but can only be perceived when it takes root in an organism that is a structure of ego, concept and sound. We can also say that it is an organism that unfolds its sense organs in these three. To this we can add the description of the astral body given above. The image-feeling, desire and impulse to move of the astral human being point to its essence. It is easy to see that there is an image-feeling in the ego organism that is not the result of a sensory experience. For the I-organism is, after all, the I-experience itself, which opposes itself in the opposite direction. In the conceptual organism, forces can be recognized which unfold towards the inside of the human being - in the astral human being - as desire. In the attraction that the concept organism has for newly added concepts, a careful self-examination will easily be able to notice the desire of this concept organism. But the same applies to the sound organism. It develops this desire for the new meanings. From this one can recognize the activity of the “astral body” in the formation of the ego, concept and sound organism.

A being that did not experience the I within, as humans do, but observed it from the outside, would be able to follow the emergence of the I organism, the organism of sounds and concepts. Such a being would have to perceive the I-experience itself in such a way that it does not allow any of this I-experience to enter into itself, but only penetrates to the boundary, and at this boundary the being of the I radiates back into itself. One sees that this is the opposite of the so-called sense of touch. With this sense, the outer world is touched and nothing of its essence is absorbed. This is also the case with the assumed being's relationship to the I. But whereas in the sense of touch the I only kindles its own experiences through the touch, thus only experiences its own content, the being presses its own content into the I-experiences, so that within the I-experiences it becomes I-perception. So when the ego perceives itself, it does so as a result of its activity, which has the same content as its own experience and differs from it only in that it shows the ego its own nature from the outside, whereas the ego can only experience this nature within itself. In the case of the conceptual sense, when the I comes into contact with this assumed being, it would not only have to reflect back the conceptual experiences, but it would have to push them back into the I-experience, so that they form the structure of the conceptual organism there. Nothing need be added to these conceptual experiences, but they must be preserved within the conceptual experience. However, in the case of the sound organism, preservation would not suffice. Something must be added to the concepts if they are to become sounds. The hypothetically assumed being would have to transfer some of its own content into the I-experience. A survey of the given conditions shows that in the I-organism only the own nature of the I is reflected back from the outside, in the concept organism the own I-experience in a different form can be directed back into itself through an external expression; in the sound organism something of the nature of the external itself pours over into the I-experience. The perceived external being would have to perceive the emergence of the I-organism as a kind of reverse sense of touch. It would sense the forming of the conceptual organism, just as a human being senses his own life processes through the sense of life. The only difference is that in the sense of life an inner structure is sensed; but the assumed being would have to sense, in its corresponding sense, the way it forms itself into the I-experience of the human being. In the sense of sound, there is then a pouring in from the outside. Should the assumed external being experience this, it would have to happen through a reverse sense of its own movement. Through this, the human being perceives his own movements; through the reversal of the same, that being would perceive the inward movement of its own being into the I-experience. It would experience itself in the execution of an external movement of the I-human being.

Now, the sense of life in the human being must be based on his own life processes. As has been shown, the life processes can be divided into breathing, warming, nourishing, secreting, maintaining, growing and producing processes. One can indeed imagine the process of forming the organ of the sense as a process of production directed from the outside inward, and the formation of the sound organism as a growing-into of the I-experience by a part of the assumed external entity. Only one must bear in mind that the I-experiences themselves are used as the material for this production and growing.

It is now possible, by extending the assumed mode of observation, to interpret the other sense experiences in relation to that which stands behind them. For the sense of hearing, the experience is that the sound points to an external object, but the organ of hearing itself points to an activity by which it is formed in a similar way to the way the conceptual organism is formed by the reverse sense of life, and the sound organism by the reverse sense of its own movement. Now imagine that the sense of equilibrium shows itself in its opposite essence. Instead of causing a person to maintain their uprightness against the three external spatial directions, in its opposite state it would produce a rebellion against the three spatial directions directed inwardly in another being. If now the external being, as assumed above, really did place itself in relation to the human being in such a way that it poured its own nature into him and brought about a rebellion against the three spatial directions within him, then it could work in such a way that the essence poured into the inner life of the I is sensed as an inner experience, but the activity of the reverse sense of balance is not sensed, but acts in a similar way to the force that forms the conceptual organism in the reverse sense of life and the sound organism in the reverse sense of self-movement. In the auditory system, the reverse sense of balance then had a formative effect. Thus, the sound points to the inside of an outside that pours into the experience of the self; the organ of hearing points to a reverse sense of balance that has accumulated and organically arranged the structures of one's own being in a similar way to how the reverse sense of life accumulates and organises conceptual experiences. If the external being, as postulated, is then really taken up as clay, which is permeated by a reversed sense of balance, then it can also be thought that the development of the auditory system is based on a process that enables the organ, when it comes into contact with the human being, which flows as sound into the experience of the I. The opposite sense of balance represents the activity on which the sound is based and from which the auditory system has developed out of the organism towards the experience of sound.

The interpretation of the sense of warmth can be understood by thinking of the reverse of the olfactory experience. In the sense of smell, the external substance penetrates the human being, and the olfactory experience is an immediate reciprocal relationship with the substance. The reverse would be the case if the assumed external substance consisted of the content of the sensation of warmth, but was imbued with an activity that enters into a direct reciprocal relationship with the human being. Behind the content of the sensation of warmth, there would then be an activity forming the warmth. It would be such that warmth flows out from it, as smell flows out from the smelling substance. Just as the odor spreads out in all directions into the external world, so would this activity be conceived as radiating out from the human being in all directions, unfolding in this radiance the organ-forming power for the sense of warmth. And just as the external substance reveals itself to the sense of smell, so the inner human being would have to reveal itself to this activity. Such a revelation would be given if the activity striving outwards were based on a kind of life process; that is, if this activity filled the human being with its own essence. The sense of warmth would thus be based on a kind of nourishment of the human being with the substance that is revealed in the warmth-sense experience according to its content.

For the interpretation of the sense of sight, the reversal of the taste experience should be considered. If the organ of sight were to come about through an external activity of a being, as hypothetically assumed above, so that, for example, color filled this being but it was completely permeated by an activity that represents a reverse tasting, then this taste-radiating activity could be thought of as the organ-forming power of the sense of sight. The situation would have to be that the effect of an external substance is not felt in the taste experience, but that the human being's inner being flows towards the radiant taste of this being. Just as in the case of taste there is a change in the substance brought about by the human being, so too would the external being have to carry out a change with the human being. However, such a change is present in the inner processes of life, for example, in warmth. The warmth would have to arise in the human being from the taste radiating out from within. Only this warmth would not express itself in the same way as an external warmth, because it has not external warmth to the substance, but something that is the same as the content of the face-sense experience. One sees that in this warmth, which is given by the activity radiating from the inside of the human being and based on the color of the adopted being, lies the inner nature of the light itself. Not the visual experience, but the inner nature of light that underlies the visual experience, arouses a warmth that lives in the organ-forming power of the visual sense in the same way that the substance lives in the interaction with the sense of taste in the taste experience.

The sense of taste can also be described as a reversed sense of smell. Only here the reversal has a different meaning than in the comparison of the sense of taste and the sense of sight. If we imagine that such a reversal takes place in the organ of smell that does not send the smell from a substance into the human interior, but lets it rebound on contact, then we would indeed have an analogy of the human organ of taste. Only the human interior itself would have to be placed in the place of the external being assumed above. That is, for the sense of smell within the human being, an essence equal to that assumed external essence would have to be presupposed. But whereas that hypothetical essence allows its nature to approach the human being from the outside, for the sense of smell its image would have to be enclosed within the human being. In so far as the human organism presents itself as an odoriferous agent, it is filled with something essentially external and alien to it. An external factor has become internal and unfolds from the internal such forces as were active in the formation of the organs of sight, hearing and warmth. It is evident that something must express itself in the sense of smell that can be equated with an inner essence of the external itself. And if the sense of taste is the reverse of this, then it is justified to say that what strikes man in the taste experience as a revelation from outside is the same as what is effective in the inner being through the organ of smell. But then between the sense of taste and the sense of smell is the point where the outer world and the inner world show themselves to be the same. And we may imagine that behind the experience of smell there is something that really behaves as an organ-forming substance of the external world within the human being, namely in the structure of the organ of taste. This, then, is built by the substance of the external world. And in the organ of smell, only the outward flowing substance itself can be imagined, which is directly perceived as such in the experience of smell. The sensation of smell would thus be the self-perception of the substance, and the organ of taste the self-animation of the substance.

These remarks should indicate that there is no need to think of anything material behind the sense experiences, but only of spiritual entities. The sense experiences would then be the revelations of the spiritual. The sense experience reveals itself directly to the senses, but not the spiritual behind it.

If, from the observation of the I-experience in the I-organism, in the concept and sound organism, an image emerged like that of a plant form that strives from top to bottom, then one can imagine the rest of the human being as that which opposes the I-experience from bottom to top and inhibits it in its flow from top to bottom, so to speak, damming it up into itself. In this remaining human being, the essence that comes into existence through birth is given. This essence is the temporal prerequisite of what, in the above image, strives from top to bottom. One can therefore say that what opposes the experience of the self from bottom to top enters the earth with birth. In this human being, therefore, what has already taken place must have been described in the above as the activities that form the sense organs. The formation of these sense organs can then only be imagined in such a way that the forces forming the sense organs bore into the human being striving from bottom to top as currents. This then gives the picture of forces striving from different sides. These forces encircle the human being and must in turn encounter an inhibition, just as the ego experience flowing from top to bottom encounters an inhibition in the entire human being striving from bottom to top. This inhibition is present when we think of the forces that form the sense organs as encountering those present in the life processes. If we imagine the sense of equilibrium striving in the opposite direction to the activity of the tone force, we have the rudiment of the organ of hearing; if we imagine the sense of smell striving in the opposite direction to the warmth-experience force, we have the rudiment of the warmth organ. This extends throughout the whole human being. This fact fits into the picture when we consider that the reverse sense of taste runs in the opposite direction to the reverse senses of smell and balance. The reverse sense of smell then runs through the whole body, and from the other side the reverse sense of taste runs to prove itself as organ-forming for the sense of sight with the power of the light experience. In the sense of taste, the substance that is revealed in the sense of smell has an organ-building effect, and finds its inhibition in the organism that has been built up by the other senses. In the sense of smell, the substance-inner strives towards the substance-inner. One arrives at the image of a periphery from which the organ-building forces emanate to take effect in the human being as if in the center of the periphery. If only these forces were effective in forming organs, then the formation and order of the sense organs would be quite different from what they actually are. This can only be the case, however, if the organ-forming forces themselves are inhibited in their development. Suppose, for example, that the organ-forming force of the auditory system is strengthened at one point and weakened at others; then it will become particularly noticeable at one point. But this is the case when other forces are acting on the organ-forming forces themselves. The question now is whether there is anything in man to indicate that there are such forces outside of him. First of all, something special can be seen in the life processes. These continue even when the sensory experiences are at rest during sleep. This shows that there must be formative forces at work in their organs, which continue to function even when the senses are dormant. The forces that form the sense organs are thus, so to speak, only one side of the organ-forming activity. The life processes must, before they can be present, be prepared by the organ-forming forces of the life organs. The forces that underlie the life organs are even more remote from human consciousness than those that build the sense organs. In the sense organs, forces reveal their effects through the sense organs. In the life organs, however, it is not the forces that build them that reveal themselves, but only their effects, namely the organs themselves. Through the sense of warmth, warmth is sensed; through the sense of life, the life organs. The formation of the life organs thus presupposes a different world from that of the sense organs. But now the sense organs must fit harmoniously into the life organs. That is to say, in order for sense organs to arise in their corresponding form, the formative forces of the life organs must already contain the predispositions for the sense organs. This, however, points to a world in which the formative forces of the life organs work in such a way that they lay the potential for sense organs in these life organs, but do not yet form them themselves in them. Only after the life organs have been formed do they imprint the sense organs on the form of these life organs. Now, however, not all sense organs need to be present in the same way in the organ-forming forces of the life organs. The organs of the so-called sense of touch do not need to be present at all. This is because they only reflect the experiences of the life organs within themselves. But even of the life, self-movement and equilibrium senses, nothing needs to be present that only has a meaning when sense organs are imprinted on the life organs. Thus, what relates to the emotional experiences of the sense of life and self-movement at the sense organs themselves is not included in the indicated predispositions. But this points to a world in which the organ-forming forces of the life organs and the predispositions for the organ-forming forces of the senses of hearing, warmth, sight, taste and smell can be found. If the sense organs impress themselves on the already existing life organs, then the formative forces of the life organs must have created a foundation in these life organs. On this basis, the life organs develop the life processes, and the organ-forming forces of the senses radiate their currents into these life processes. These organ-forming forces thus encounter an inhibition in the life organs. Their activity collides with this inhibition. The senses can only be developed where the life organs allow it. The image of the human being shows that the distribution of the sense organs mentioned above is reflected in the contrast between “left-right” and “right-left”. And the symmetrical structure of the human being in these directions shows once again that the relationship between the life organs and the sense organs is twofold. One need only observe the sense organs in a human being facing forward to arrive at the picture, for instance, that the right ear, in so far as it owes its origin to the stage in which the formative forces of the life organs hold sway, is shaped from left to right, and that it has become a sense organ through the sense-forming forces having opposed its formation from right to left. The reverse would apply to the left ear. Similar considerations apply to the other symmetrically arranged sense organs.

In so far as man is a being who has experiences through sense organs, his origin can be sought in that world from which it is said above that the astral man comes from. If we now consider that the forces that form the sense organs are the inverted sense experiences themselves, we may assume that we are talking about the world from which the astral man comes when we presuppose the existence of a being that forms the sense organs through forces that, as it were, collide from outside. For it has been shown that, during the formation of the sense organs, the reverse sense experiences flow into the human interior. Thus pictorial sensations are aroused by these forces. But the pictorial sensations, along with desires and impulses of movement, are what points to the astral body of the human being. If we now consider the forces that form the sense organs, also as a reversal of movement impulses and desires, we have an idea of how the human astral body, as the shaper of the sense organisms, is taken from an imperceptibly imperceptible world. - This presupposes a world underlying the world of sense experiences, which has been called the 'astral world'. We then have to take everything that man experiences through the senses as immediate reality and assume an astral reality hidden within it. The first is called the physical world. The astral world underlies it. It has now been shown that the latter is based on yet another. The formative forces of the life organs and the predispositions for hearing, warmth, sight and taste are rooted in this. Since it contains the formative forces for the organs of life, it can be said that the human being himself, insofar as he has the formative forces of the organs of life in his body, also comes from it. If we now call the sum of the formative forces of the human life organs (in the sense of §53) the “etheric” body of man, we can recognize that this etheric body has its origin in the world beyond the astral. This world has now been called the “lower spiritual world”, whereby again nothing more is to be thought of by this name than what is stated here.

Among the processes of life, there are three whose organs point beyond the world in which, according to what has been presented above, the origin of the organs of life is to be sought. In generation, the living physical body repeats its own structures; in growth, it adds something new to what already exists, out of the material of that which already exists; in maintenance, what already exists acts on what already exists; and in secretion, something that was only present in the living process is secreted out of it. These, then, are the life processes that take place within the life organs themselves. It is not so with nutrition, warmth, and breathing. These processes are only possible if the life organs absorb something from an external world.

Among the sense experiences, there are five whose organs point out in the same way to the world in which the origin of the organs corresponding to the other sense experiences is to be found. According to the above, the sense of taste is a kind of inverted sense of smell, in that the taste organ turns the experience felt by the sense of smell on the outer substance inward, so that the smell of the substance already inside the body is tasted. The sense of taste therefore presupposes a substance that is already in the organism. The sense of smell, however, requires the substance of the external world. Regarding the sense of sight, it is clear from the above considerations that its organ comes into being when an entity is active in this process of becoming, which does not treat the color experiences as they are when they are perceived through the sense of sight, but when it sets them in motion in an activity that is the opposite of that which builds up the sense of taste. Thus, if such an activity is present in an organism, a visual organ can arise from a preexisting taste organ being transformed into a visual organ. Thus, while an olfactory organ is inconceivable without contact with an external substance, and a gustatory organ is an inward-facing olfactory organ, and therefore requires a substance to be present within the body, the visual organ can come into being if a gustatory organ that is present in the germ is not developed as such but is transformed internally. Then the substance must also pour inwardly to this organ. It is the same with the organ of warmth. For the same reason as that given for the organ of sight, it can be regarded as an organ of smell that is arrested in its formation and transformed inwardly. (Thus the organ of taste would be regarded as a simply upturned organ of smell, and the organ of warmth as a transformed organ of smell.) The organ of hearing would be regarded in the same sense as a transformed organ of equilibrium, the organ of sound as an organ of the sense of one's own movement, whose formation was halted early on, and the organ of concept as an organ of the sense of life, transformed in its very origin. The formation of these organs does not presuppose the presence of an external substance, but it is only necessary that the substance flowing within is grasped by higher formative forces than those that prevail in the sense of smell.

On the other hand, contact with an external substance is necessary for the sense of smell. Now, the sense of equilibrium does not presuppose contact with the external substance, but it does presuppose a relationship to the three directions of space. If these directions were such in empty space, the sense of equilibrium could not exist; it can only exist if space is filled with matter and the material filling is permeated by forces with which the human body comes into contact. But for a reciprocal relationship to come about, other forces must be related to forces. Thus, the human body must counter the three forces of the material filling the space with three forces of its own material. The human body must therefore have an organ that is not only related to the external material in the same way as the organ of smell, but through which its three directions of force can be sensed. It has been shown above that the inverted sense of balance can be thought of as active in the formation of the organ of hearing. Now, let us assume that this inverted sense of balance takes an existing auditory system beyond the formation of an organ of hearing, that is, it does not end this formation at the moment when it has become an organ of hearing, but continues to develop it from that point on. Then the auditory system would become an organ of balance. In the same way, it can now be imagined that the reversed sense of self-movement would lead an organ of sound beyond the character of the organ of sound. Then, through a corresponding organ, the human being would not perceive sounds, but would sense the relationships that exist with the forces of external matter. And if the reversed sense of life were to lead an organ of perception far beyond its formation, then it would sense through a corresponding organ the relationship of its own substance to external substance. For this to be possible, the substance would not only have to prove effective in the human body, but it would have to be able to enter the body from the outside, without touching it, and allow its powers to play within. Then there would be three organs in the sense of balance, the sense of self-movement and the sense of life, for which the external world would be necessary for their development. But this is clear from the sense of touch, since it only recognizes an external world through a hidden judgment, and thus necessarily presupposes one. One can thus say that in the organs of taste, sight, warmth and hearing, organs are given that can be formed in the organism by the forces of the material flowing in it; for the sense of smell, sense of balance, sense of one's own movement, sense of life and sense of touch, external material with its forces proves to be a condition.

Just as the organs of life point to the material outside world in breathing, warming, and nourishing, so do the organs of the sensory organs mentioned. In contrast, secretion, maintenance, growth, production, taste, vision, hearing, speech, thought, and ego organisms presuppose inner formative principles that can only be active in internalized material.

If we now assume, as we have done above, that the formative forces for the organs of life and the predispositions for the sense organs lie in the lower spiritual world, then a distinction arises for the formative forces of the organs of life prevailing in this world between those that presuppose an internalized substance and those that shape their organs for the absorption of the substance from outside. It is easy to see that the latter are a prerequisite for the former. For if matter itself did not possess the potential to become internalized, it could not become active within itself. Thus, forces must prevail in matter that enable it to evoke counter-effects from what is external to it. The above description has shown that matter can produce such counter-effects in itself. The reversed senses of life, of self-movement and of equilibrium carry within them the hidden possibility of acting in such a way that, in order to produce internal formations, they are active as substance itself, without using the internal formative principles as such. They act, after all, not only within, but also outside their measure. If we now imagine these three inverted sensory activities as being so effective that they do not encounter any internally formed organ, but remain in the character of their effectiveness, then they reach a boundary where they must return into themselves. At this boundary, therefore, the material would throw itself back into itself; it would be inhibited in itself. At this boundary, what could be called materiality in materiality would be given. And this points to the possibility of how the organs that need inner substance arise out of a world in which the material-outer becomes material-inner. In this world, the first rudiments would have to lie both for those organs of the life process that are supplied by internalized substance and for those that need external substance. And the forces that bring the external substance to the interior should already have the potential for this internalization. Just as the forces in the organs of life themselves point to a world of other forces, from which the organs of life are first formed, so the internal flow of matter in the organs of life points to potentialities from an even higher world, from which they are formed. We are led to point to an outer world which, through the contrast between the sense of life, the sense of self-movement and the sense of equilibrium, can spark an inner world within itself. This world, however, can be called the “higher spiritual world”. What would be sought in it? Not forces that shape organs of life in the first place, but those that implant in their structures the potential to become organs of life. These forces, however, are to be thought of as the opposites of the sense of equilibrium, the sense of self-movement and the sense of life. If these forces are stopped before they reach the limit of their effectiveness, through inner formative processes in organs that are already being formed, then they shape the sense organs of hearing, of sound and of concept out of such organ predispositions. What happens when they reach the limit of that activity which lies in their own character? If the sense of life that is turned inwards did not encounter something in the organ of concepts that it only has to reshape, then it would obviously lead the conceptual experience back into itself. And in its reflection, it would immediately encounter itself. It would be the same as in a sensory experience, but it would have an independent existence without an underlying sensory organ. The same could be said for the sense of balance and equilibrium when reversed. In the higher spiritual world, we would thus find sense experiences that are at rest in themselves and which prove to be related to those sense experiences to which the human being in the physical world is closest with his ego, the experiences of the sense of concept, sound and hearing. But those experiences are as if there were not, as it were, a human ego standing before them and taking them in, but as if there were a being behind them that creates them in its own activity.

On the basis of the above considerations, the following can be said about the principles of education for humans:

It is assumed:

1. A higher spiritual world; in this lie forces that form structures which, in independent substance, represent living sensory experiences. And imprinted in these structures are the predispositions for the organs of life.

2. A lower spiritual world; in this lie the formative powers of the organs of life. The forces active in the first world form such structures that nourish themselves from the already internalized substance. The forces of this world themselves attach to them those that first internalize external matter. This results in a difference between the organs of life in terms of how they are produced and how they are nourished. The formations formed out of the first world are transformed into sense organs that nourish themselves from internalized matter. The formative forces of this world themselves add to these sense organs those that are in an interdependent relationship with external matter.

3. The astral world; in this lie the formative forces of the sense organs. But the life organs must also be transformed out of this world in such a way that they can receive the sense organs.

4. The physical world; in this world lie the sensory experiences of the human being.

It must now be recognized that these four worlds interact, that the forces of each higher world persist in the lower ones. The fact that the organs mentioned are derived from the forces of higher worlds can only mean that these organs are subject to the influences of the higher worlds, even if they occur in the lower worlds. From the physical world the forces of the higher worlds do not act on the sense organs; from the astral world the forces of the two spiritual worlds do not act on the life organs; and from the lower spiritual world the forces of the higher ones do not act on the endowments of the life organs characterized above. It follows that the forces of the higher worlds must show themselves active in a different way from the physical world than if they were to act directly from their own world. The forces of the higher spiritual world can only act as formative forces on the human being, who is endowed with sense organs, life organs and organ systems. They can determine the shape and position of the organs. Thus, the shape and position of the organs of the human body result from the activity of the higher spiritual world in the physical one. The I experiences concepts in conceptual perception; the sense of life, in its inverted form, produces the living concepts of the higher spiritual world. In the physical world, they can only function as formative forces. It is certainly clear that man owes his ability to perceive concepts to his upright form. No other creature on earth has the ability to perceive concepts, nor has any other the same upright form. (A little thought will show that in the case of animals that appear to have an upright form, this is due to something other than inner forces). In this way, one can see from bottom to top that which is connected to conceptual perception when the inverted sense of life is not involved. From this, one can conclude that there is a direction from top to bottom for the inverted sense of life. It would be even more correct to say that there is a direction almost from top to bottom. For one should see something in the direction of growth from bottom to top that is opposed to the reversed sense of touch. Insofar as the ego represents a contrast to the sense of touch, in the sense of the above explanations, one can regard the vertical direction of growth of the body upwards as an ego-bearer, like a continuous overcoming of the weight downwards, which of course represents a reversal of the sense of touch. From all this, the contrast between 'up-down' and 'down-up' in the human body can be interpreted as if a current from bottom to top takes place in such a way that the overcoming of the reversed sense of life from top to bottom is given in it. Now, the effect of the higher spiritual world on the physical human body must be seen in this reversed sense of life. Thus we can say that the human body, in so far as it is the carrier of the I, strives upwards; the physical human body, in so far as it shows in its form the effect of the higher spiritual world, from above downwards. In so far as the human being physically expresses the image of a being belonging to the higher spiritual world, one can see it as the meeting of the ego body with the physical body, arising from the interpenetration of two directions of force. In his ego experience, the human being belongs to the physical outer world, but at the same time he represents that which gives an image of the experience reflected back into itself. This is an image of what has been characterized as the self-contained sensory experiences of the higher spiritual world. In the body, insofar as it is the carrier of the ego, we can thus see an image of matter internalizing itself. Another contrast comes to light in 'backwards-forwards'; 'forwards-backwards'. The sense organs, together with the nerves belonging to them, now essentially represent organs that reveal their growth from front to back; if one imagines them, as is certainly justified, growing in such a way that their formative forces are opposed to the original direction of growth, coming from the lower spiritual world, then one may look for this latter direction in the direction from back to front. And then we shall be able to say that in the conclusion from behind in relation to the human form there is something analogous to that in the conclusion from below upwards in relation to the higher spiritual world. In the outer form, the forces of the lower spiritual world that cannot act on the human being from the physical world then worked from the front to the back on the organs of life; but from the back to the front, the forces of the lower spiritual world worked into the physical human world. They express what, in the sense of the above considerations, may be called the astral human being. Insofar as the astral human being shows itself in its bodily form, it strives from behind to the front just as the physical human body strives upwards. The third antithesis would be “right-left”; “left-right”. The symmetry of the human form in relation to this direction can be seen as an indication that the forces are balanced there. This can be seen when one observes the interaction in these directions of the human physical form, insofar as the physical organs have already been formed from the lower spiritual world, with the formative forces of the sense organs. In the left half of the body of the person facing forward, one would have to imagine the formative forces of the astral world for the sense organs, insofar as these forces no longer have a direct effect in the physical world, as from the left half of the body to the right; those forces of the astral world that have such an effect on the body that their effect is expressed in the body would then have to work to the left. Since these forces must act on organs that already come from the lower spiritual world, they will show an inward effect, as the forces of the higher and lower spiritual worlds show an outward effect in their formation. (What has been said here can be found substantiated in anthropology in the lines of the nerve tracts that cross in the organism.) This points to a permeation of the astral world with the etheric body of the human being, insofar as this is expressed in the physical form. It can be said:

1. The formation of the physical human body is conditioned by the direction from above to below from the higher spiritual world.

2. The shape of the human body, insofar as it is the carrier of the astral human being, points in the direction from back to front.

3. The shape of the human body, insofar as it is the carrier of the life processes, points both to the direction “right-left” and “left-right”.

4. The result of these formations would then be the actual physical human form. In order for this to come about, the formative forces indicated must permeate each other. Such interpenetration can only be conceived if the human being places himself in the physical world in such a way that the forces of the physical outer world in the direction of “right-left” and “left-right” are grasped by the forces of the astral world in such a way that the possibility remains open in their formation to then shape themselves further in the direction from back to front, and according to this determination, that from top to bottom remains open. For only if one imagines a direction that in principle goes from right to left and from left to right, acting on all sides, and then changes as in the direction towards the front, and is then transformed again upwards, can one imagine how the above comes about. But in order that this may result in the human form, for these forces, opposing forces must be thought of, proceeding from the physical world itself. These are then those forces which show themselves to be no longer acting from the physical world, but as forces coming from the higher worlds, as characterized above. But the latter alone may be sought in the physical human being. Man enters into relation with the others only as such a disposition. If we seek in the physical world the clue to man's relation to higher worlds, we must look not to the life processes and their connection with the organs, nor to the life of the sense organs, nor to the brain, but solely to the 'how', the form of the bodily shape and the organs. This 'how' shows that the clues to the spiritual worlds can still be perceived in the physical human being. (The difference between man and animal in relation to the higher worlds can therefore be seen from an observation of the bodily form, insofar as the animal is arranged in a different way in the spatial directions; but this different arrangement reveals that the higher worlds have a different effect on the animal and on man).

The anthroposophical considerations can be made fruitful if one applies the given considerations to the details of the human body shape. It will then everywhere result in full harmony with the anthropological observations. The indication of how in the organ of hearing, organ of sight, etc. conversions of organ systems that are in the process of developing or an inverted sense of smell in the organ of taste, can lead to ideas that must be found again in the organ forms. The asymmetrical organs are understood if we conceive of them in such a way that their forms have been formed by the fact that the “left-right” and “right-left” forces of the astral world could be excluded. If one recognizes, as has been done above, a reversal of the sense organs, a turning inwards of the same, then one will also be able to admit that the transformation can also be conditioned by other principles. Take the organ of hearing. The same has been related to the sense of balance. One can imagine that the activity that manifests itself in the sense of balance, an inward-facing organ system that has not yet differentiated into the organ of hearing, diverts it from its original direction of formation. The sense of sound would then come about if another activity were directed towards the corresponding organ system. This could be related to the experiences of the sense of self-movement. This would throw light on the fact that the organ of hearing finds expression in an organ turned towards the outer material, while the organ of speech cannot be perceived externally. The experience of the sense of self-movement corresponds to the inside of the body, while the experience of the sense of balance is expressed in relation to the outer spatial directions. One could therefore also call the speech organ a hearing organ held back inside the body. For the experience of the self, which does not correspond to any sensory experience, not a special organ, but only the upward striving of other organ systems, would come into consideration. Thus, in the speech organ and the organ of concepts, we can see structures whose physical form is determined by their tendency towards the experience of self. In what the body, as the carrier of the 'I', participates in from within, we can recognize the inversion in the formative forces, and say that when the body, as the carrier of the 'I', reshapes an organ, the nature of the formations of the higher spiritual world must be recognizable in its image. One such organ is the speech organ (the larynx). If the series of organs comprising the ear, sense of sound and sense of concept can be called a progressive bodily internalization of the sense potential, then the sense of sound can be recognized as reversed in the speech organ. Here the sound does not become a sense experience that strives inward through an organ toward the I, but is a sense content that is self-contained and creative, a truly reversed sense experience. The formation of the larynx corresponds exactly to these conditions. One can then also look for an organ that corresponds to an ability in man that stands between speaking and I, as grasping stands between hearing and I. Through this, something would have to arise from within man that is not as poor in content as the I-experience and does not yet flow directly into the outer world in its revelations. This would be the organ in the human brain that corresponds to the imagination. We will gradually learn to distinguish between the organ of concept and the organ of imagination in the brain.

Since the formative forces of the three higher worlds are to some extent still present in the form of the physical human body, it must also be recognized that the formative forces of the two higher spiritual worlds can act on the astral body directly from the astral world; and finally, that the life organs, as they are from the lower spiritual world, are directly influenced by the higher spiritual world. Taking into account such forces, the shape and position of the heart, the respiratory and circulatory organs, the muscular and skeletal systems, etc. can arise.

In the human form within the physical world, it is revealed that its development has not merely followed an adaptation to circumstances that are alien to the inner nature of the human being, but that this form ultimately expresses in image what the character of the “I” is. The human being's developmental disposition must be conceived in such a way that, in its formation, points of contact are given to the forces of the higher worlds. In the sense-perceptible world, only the content of sensations is given for perception, and the I, when it perceives itself, confronts these as pictorial sensations. Pictorial sensation, however, belongs to the astral world. In the I's experience of itself, the pictorial sensation thus stands, as it were, free in space. It has been shown that the sense of taste can be seen as an inverted sense of smell. If we do not think that the impact of the substance in the sense of smell is what causes the sensation, but rather that the experience of smell itself, as a self-experience in the I, becomes a component of the latter, then we can see in a desire or in a movement impulse of the astral I the response of this I to something that originates from the substance and is incorporated into the I without physical mediation. Behind the experience of smell, in addition to the experience of images, are the astral counter-effects against the desires and impulses of the ego. In the case of sound, it is possible to clearly distinguish between what is detached from the external object and what is perceived about this object through senses other than hearing. And what is detached is the experience of the self by the ego. We can certainly say that when an object is heard, only the sound-producing object belongs to a world in which the ego is not present, in which it cannot identify with the sensory experience. In the sense of one's own movement, the position and change in the shape of one's own organism is perceived. In this case, it seems obvious that, in addition to the self-experience of the ego, only an astral counter-effect to a movement impulse needs to be assumed. If there are only sense experiences in the physical world, then we can only speak of sense experiences in this world. But since a physical body must have sense organs in order to have sense experiences, there is nothing in this physical world for a human being but sense experiences and the perception of the self as an astral image experience. The ego has no other possibility than to experience objects of the external world, and to find the sense experiences combined in the most diverse ways. What happens is nothing but a free-floating in space of sense experiences. But let us assume that the human form as such is not meaningless, but that it depends on the direction and position of one organ in relation to another. And if we look at the physical world from this point of view, it is essential that the organ of taste is an upturned organ of smell. For if we now think of the experience of smell, as it is, as an image-sensation, without denying the substance itself, as space-filling, the ability to present this experience as an image-sensation, just as the ego-perception is in itself a freely floating image-sensation in space , then it must be recognized that something depends on whether the surface of an object is turned towards an object in such a way that, in order to receive the image sensation emanating from it, one sensory organ or the other must be turned towards it. For the human being in the physical world, however, it will only follow that, depending on the use of the organ, it perceives smell one time and taste the next. But if not only the ego perception in the physical world comprised the ego, but this ego were essentially based on the shape of its body in such a way that it experienced all visual impressions as its own, then in this ego the visual sensation of smell would be the ego's experience of itself on the one hand, and that of taste on the other. If we were dealing not with the finished physical form, but with one in the process of formation, there would be no perception of the self; the self-experience of the self would have to be quite different.

[ 1 ] The inner nature of man demands that he experience his relation with ultimate reality. Among thinkers who pursue this goal with untiring energy we find a large number discoursing on certain “boundaries” of knowledge. And, if we listen attentively, we cannot help noticing how collision with these boundaries, when it is experienced by a candid mind, tends in the direction of an inner psychic apprehension, a “purely noetic experience” such as was indicated in the first paragraph of this book. Consider how the profoundly able mind of Friedrich Theodor Vischer, in the packed essay he wrote on Johannes Volkelt’s book Dream-Phantasy (Traumphantasie), reports its own reaction to one such limit of cognition:

“No mind where no nerve-centre, where no brain”, say our opponents. No nerve-centre, we say, no brain unless it had been first prepared for by innumerable stages from below upwards. It is easy to babble, with a sneer, about Mind careering through granite and chalk—just as easy as it is for us to ask, with a sneer, how the albumen in the brain flies up aloft into ideas. Human knowledge is extinguished at any attempt to span the distance from one step to the other.

It will remain a secret how it comes about that nature—beneath which spirit must somehow or other be slumbering—presents itself as such a backlash of spirit that we bruise ourselves on it. The direction appears so absolute that Hegel’s formulation of it as “Being other” and “Being outside itself”, brilliant as it is, says almost nothing; it simply drapes the abruptness of the party wall. We may look to Fichte for a really adequate acknowledgment of the abruption and of the shock of the backlash, but we still find no explanation of it.

(Compare F. T. Vischer: Old and New (Altes und Neues), 1881, Part I, p. 229 f.)

Vischer lays his finger on the kind of issue with which anthroposophy too engages. But he fails to realise that, precisely at such a frontier of knowledge as this, another mode of knowledge can begin. He desires to go on living on these frontiers with the same brand of cognition that sufficed until he reached them. Anthroposophy seeks to demonstrate that the possibility of systematic knowledge (science) does not cease at the point where ordinary cognition “bruises” itself, at the point where this “abruption” and these “shocks” from the backlash make themselves felt; but that, on the contrary, the experiences that ensue from them lead naturally towards the development of another type of cognition, which transforms the backlash into perception of spirit—a perception which at the outset, in its initial stage, may be compared with tactile perception in the realm of the senses.

In Part III of Altes und Neues Vischer says: “Very well: there is no soul alongside of the body (he means, for the materialists); what we call matter simply becomes soul at the highest level of organisation known to us, in the brain, and soul evolves to mind or spirit. In other words, we are to be satisfied with a half-baked concept, which for the divisive understanding is a simple contradiction.” Anthroposophy echoes and supplements this with: Very well: for the divisive understanding there is a contradiction. But for the soul, the contradiction becomes the point of departure of a knowledge before which the divisive understanding is pulled up short, because it encounters the backlash of actual spirit.

[ 2 ] Again, Gideon Spicker, the author of a series of discerning publications, who also wrote Philosophical Confession of a Former Capuchin (Philosophische Bekenntnis eines ehemaligen Kapuziners, 1910) identifies incisively enough one of the confining limits of ordinary cognition:

Whatever philosophy a man confesses, whether it is dogmatic or sceptical, empirical or transcendental, critical or eclectic, every one, without exception, starts from an unproven and unprovable premise, namely the necessity of thinking. No investigation ever gets behind this necessity, however deep it may dig. It has to be simply, and groundlessly, accepted; every attempt to prove its validity already presupposes it. Beneath it yawns a bottomless abyss, a ghastly darkness, illuminated by no ray of light. We know not whence that necessity comes, nor whither it leads. As to whether a gracious God or whether an evil demon implanted it in the reason, we are equally uncertain. (p. 30.)

Reflection on the nature of thought, then, leads of itself to one of the frontiers of normal cognition. Anthroposophy occupies this frontier; it knows how necessity confronts and blocks discursive thought like an impenetrable wall. But when the act of thinking is experienced as such, the wall becomes penetrable. This experienced thinking finds a light of contemplation wherewith to illuminate the “darkness illuminated by no ray of light” of merely discursive thought. It is only for the dominion of the senses that the abyss is bottomless; if we do not halt before it, but make up our minds to risk going ahead with thought, beyond the point at which it has to jettison all that the senses have furnished to it, then in that “bottomless abyss” we find the realities of the spirit …*”

[ 3 ] One could continue almost indefinitely exemplifying the reaction of serious minds before the “frontiers of knowledge”. And it would serve to show that anthroposophy has its proper place as the inevitable product of mental evolution in the modern age. There are plenty of prophetic signs, if we know how to read them.

[ 1 ] On page 35 the expression “benumbing” (Herablähmung) is used of representations as they turn into imitations of sensory reality. It is in this “benumbing” that we must locate the positive event that underlies the phase of abstraction in the process of cognition. The mind forms concepts of sensory reality. For any theory of knowledge the question is how that, which it retains within itself as concept of a real being or event, is related to such real being or event. Has the somewhat that I carry around in me as the concept of a wolf any relation at all to a particular reality, or is it simply a schema that I have constructed for myself by withdrawing my attention (abstracting) from anything peculiar to this wolf or that wolf, and to which nothing in the real world corresponds? This question received extensive treatment in the medieval conflict between Nominalism and Realism: for the Nominalists nothing about the world is real except the visible materials extant in it as a single individual, flesh, blood, bones and so forth. The concept “wolf” is “merely” a conceptual aggregate of the properties common to different wolves. To this the Realist objects: any material found in an individual wolf is also to be found in other animals. There must then be something that disposes the materials into the living coherence they exhibit in the wolf. This constituent reality is given by way of the concept. It cannot be denied that Vincent Knauer, the distinguished specialist in Aristotelian and medieval philosophy, has something, when he says in his book, Fundamental Problems of Philosophy (Die Hauptprobleme der Philosophie, Vienna, 1892):

A wolf, for instance, consists of no different material constituents than a lamb; its material corporeality is composed of assimilated lambsflesh; yet the wolf does not become a lamb even if it eats nothing but lambs all its life. Whatever it is that makes it wolf, therefore, must obviously be something other than the “Kyle”, the sensory material, and that something, moreover, cannot possibly be a mere “thought-thing” even though it is accessible to thought alone, and not to the senses. It must be something active, therefore actual, therefore eminently real.

How after all does one get round this objection on a strictly anthropological view of what constitutes reality? It is not what is transmitted through the senses that produces the concept “wolf”. On the other hand that concept, as present in ordinary-level consciousness, is certainly nothing effective. Merely by the energy of that concept the conformation of the “sensory” materials contained in a wolf could certainly not be brought about. The fact is that, with this question, anthropology comes up against one of its frontiers of knowledge.—Anthroposophy demonstrates that, besides the relation of man to wolf, which is there in the sensory field, there is another relation as well. This latter does not, in its immediate specificity, reach into ordinary-level consciousness. But it does subsist as a living continuity between the human mind and the sensuously observed object. The vitality that subsists in the mind by virtue of this continuity is by the systematic understanding subdued, or benumbed, to a “concept”. An abstract idea is a reality defunct, to enable its representation in ordinary-level consciousness, a reality in which the human being does in fact live in the process of sense perception, but which does not become a conscious part of his life. The abstractness of ideas is brought about by an inner necessity of the psyche. Reality furnishes man with a living content. Of this living content he puts to death that part which invades his ordinary consciousness. He does so because he could not achieve self-consciousness as against the outer world if he were compelled to experience, in all its vital flux, his continuity with that world. Without the paralysing of this vital flow, the human being could only know himself as a scion comprised within a unity extending beyond the limits of his humanity; he would be an organ of a larger organism.

The manner in which the mind suffers its cognitive process to peter out into the abstractness of concepts is not determined by a reality external to itself. It is determined by the laws of development of man’s own existence, which laws demand that, in the process of perception, he subdue his vital continuity with the outer world down to those abstract concepts that are the foundation whereon his self-consciousness grows and increases. That this is the case becomes evident to the mind, once it has developed its organs of spirit. By this means that living continuity with a spiritual reality lying outside the individual, which was referred to on pp. 38/9, is reconstituted. But, unless self-consciousness had been purchased in the first place from ordinary level consciousness, it could not be amplified to intuitive consciousness. It follows that a healthy ordinary-level consciousness is a sine qua non of intuitive consciousness. Anyone who supposes that he can develop an intuitive consciousness without a healthy and active ordinary-level consciousness is making a very great mistake. On the contrary, normal and everyday consciousness has to accompany an intuitive consciousness at every single moment. Otherwise self-consciousness will be impaired and disorder introduced into the mind’s relation to reality. It is to this kind of consciousness alone that anthroposophy looks for intuitive cognition; not to any sedating of ordinary-level consciousness.

[ 1 ] Perceptions in the field of noetic reality do not persist within the psyche in the same way as do representations gained through sense-perception. While it is true that such perceptions may be usefully compared with the ideas of memory, on the lines indicated in Section II, their station within the psyche is nevertheless not the same as that of its memories. This is because what is experienced as spiritual perception cannot be preserved there in its immediate form. If a man wishes to have the same noetic perception over again, he must occasion it anew within the psyche. In other words the psyche's relation to the corresponding noetic reality must be deliberately re-established. And this renewal is not to be compared with the remembering of a sense impression, but solely with the bringing into view once more of the same sense object as was there on the occasion of the former impression.

What can, within the memory, be retained of an actual spiritual perception is not the perception itself but the disposition of soul through which one attained to that perception. If my object is to repeat a spiritual perception which I had some while back, it is no use my trying to remember it. What I should try to remember is something that will call back the psychic preparations that led me to the perception in the first place. Perception then occurs through a process that does not depend on me.

It is important to be very conscious of this dual nature of the whole proceeding, because it is only in that way that one gains authentic knowledge of what is in fact objective spirit. Thereafter, it is true, the duality is modified for practical purposes, through the circumstance that the content of the spiritual perception can be carried over from the intuitive into ordinary-level consciousness. Then, within the latter, it becomes an abstract idea. And this can be later recollected in the ordinary manner. Nevertheless, in order to acquire a reliable psychic relation to the spiritual world, it is a very great advantage to cultivate assiduously the knowledge of three rather subtly differentiated mental processes: 1) psychic, or soul, processes leading up to a spiritual perception; 2) spiritual perceptions themselves; 3) spiritual perceptions translated into the concepts of ordinary consciousness.

[ 1 ] There is one objection often brought against anthroposophy, which is no less understandable than it is impermissible; understandable against the psychological background of those who advance it and impermissible because it traverses the whole spirit of anthroposophical research. I find it quite trivial, because the answer to it is readily available to anyone who follows with genuine understanding the literature written from the anthroposophical point of view. Only because it is always cropping up again do I repeat here some of the observations I added in 1914 to the sixth edition of my book Theosophy. It ought to be possible (so runs the objection) for the alleged findings of anthroposophical observation to be “proved” by strictly scientific, that is experimental, methods. The idea is that a few people, who maintain that they can achieve such results, should be confronted with a number of other people under strictly controlled experimental conditions, whereupon the “spiritual researchers” would be asked to declare what they have “seen” in the examining persons. For the experiment to succeed, their findings would have to coincide or at all events to share a high enough percentage of similarity to each other. It is, perhaps, not surprising that someone whose knowledge of anthroposophy does not include having understood it should keep on making demands of this kind. Their satisfaction would save him the trouble of working his way through to the actual proof, which consists in acquiring, as it is open to everyone to do, the ability to see for himself. But anyone who has really understood anthroposophy will have sufficient insight to realise that an experiment engineered on these lines is about as apt a way of getting results through genuinely spiritual intuition as stopping the clock is of telling the time. The preliminaries leading up to the conditions under which spiritual observation is possible have to be furnished by the psyche itself and by the total disposition of the psyche. External arrangements of the kind that lead to a natural-scientific experiment are not so furnished. For instance, one part of that same disposition must of necessity be, that the will-impulse prompting to an observation is exclusively and without reservation the original impulse of the person to make the observation. And that there should not be anything in the artificial external preparations that exerts a transforming influence upon that innermost impulse. At the same time—and it is surprising how this is nearly always overlooked—given these psychological conditions, everyone can procure the proofs for anthroposophy for himself; so that the “proofs” are in fact universally accessible. It will of course be indignantly denied; but the only real reason for insisting on “external proofs” is the fact that they can be obtained in reasonable comfort, whereas the authentically spiritual-scientific method is a laborious and disconcerting one.

[ 2 ] What Brentano wanted was something very different from this demand for comfortable experimental verification of anthroposophical truths. He wanted to be able to work in a psychological laboratory. His longing for this facility frequently crops up in his writings, and he made repeated efforts to bring it about. The tragic intervention of circumstance obliged him to abandon the idea. Just because of his attitude to psychological questions he would have produced, with the help of such a laboratory, results of great importance. If the object is to establish the best conditions for obtaining results in the field of anthropological psychology (which extends just as far as those “boundaries of knowledge”, where anthropology and anthroposophy encounter one another), then the answer is the kind of psychological laboratory Brentano envisaged. In such a laboratory there would be no need to hunt for ways of inducing manifestations of “intuitive consciousness” experimentally. The experimental techniques employed there would soon show how human nature is (adapted for that kind of “seeing” and how the intuitive is entailed by the normal consciousness. Everyone who holds the anthroposophical point of view longs, as Brentano did, to be able to work in a genuine psychological laboratory; but for the present such a possibility is ruled out by the prejudices against anthroposophy that still prevail.

[ 1 ] My object here is to present in outline certain conclusions I have reached concerning the relations between the psychic and the physical components of the human being. I may add that, in doing so, I place on record the results of a systematic spiritual investigation extending over a period of thirty years. It is only in the last few of those years that it has become practicable to formulate these results in concepts capable of verbal expression, and thus to bring the investigation to at least a temporary close. I must emphasise that it is the results and the results alone that I shall be presenting, or rather indicating, in what follows. Their foundation in fact can certainly be established on the basis of contemporary science. But to do this would require a substantial volume; and that my present circumstances do not permit of my writing.

[ 2 ] If we are seeking for the actual relation between psychic and physical, it will not do to take as our starting-point Brentano’s distribution of psychic experience into representation, judgment and the responses of love and hate. Partitioning in this way, we are led to shelve so many relevant considerations that we shall reach no reliable results. On the contrary we have to start from that very trichotomy of representation, feeling and will which Brentano rejected. If we survey the psychic experience of representation as a whole, and seek for the bodily processes with which that experience is related, we shall find the appropriate nexus by relying substantially on the findings of current physiological psychology. The somatic correlatives to the psychic element in representation are observable in the processes of the nervous system, extending into the sense organs in one direction and into the interior physical organism in the other. Here, however wide the divergence in many respects between the anthroposophical point of view and that of contemporary science, that very science provides an excellent foundation.

It is otherwise when we seek to determine the somatic correlatives for feeling and willing. There we have first to blaze the requisite trail through the findings of current physiology. And once we have succeeded in doing so, we shall find that, just as representation is necessarily related to nervous activity, so feeling must be seen as related to that vital rhythm which is centred in, and connected with, the respiratory system; bearing in mind that, for this purpose, the rhythm of breathing must be traced right into the outermost peripheral regions of the organism. To arrive at concrete results here, the findings of physiological research need to be pursued in a direction which is as yet decidedly unfamiliar. If we take the trouble to do this, preliminary objections to bracketing feeling with respiration, all disappear, and what at first looks like an objection turns out to be a proof. Take one simple example from the wide range available: musical experience is dependent on some feeling, but the content of musical form subsists in representations furnished by auditory perception. How does musical emotion arise? The representation of the tonal shape (which depends on organ of hearing and neural process) is not yet the actual musical experience. That arises in the measure that the rhythm of breathing, continuing further into the brain, confronts within that organ the effects produced there by ear and nervous system. The psyche now lives, not alone in what is heard and represented, or thought, but in the breathing rhythm. Something is released in the breathing rhythm through the fact that neural process impinges on rhythmic life. Once we have seen the physiology of respiration in its true light, we are led on all hands to the conclusion that the psyche, in experiencing emotion, is supported by the rhythmic process of breathing, in the same way that, in representation and ideation, it is supported by neural processes. And it will be found that willing is supported, in the same way, by the physical processes of metabolism. Here again one must include the innumerable offshoots and ramifications of these processes, which extend throughout the entire organism.

When something is “represented”, a neural process takes place, on the basis of which the psyche becomes conscious of its representation; when something is “felt”, a modification is effected in the breathing rhythm, through which a feeling comes to life; and in the same way, when something is “willed”, a metabolic process occurs that is the somatic foundation for what the psyche experiences as willing. It should be noted however that it is only in the first case (representation mediated by the nervous system) that the experience is a fully conscious, waking experience. What is mediated through the breathing-rhythm (including in this category everything in the nature of feelings, affects, passions and the like) subsists in normal consciousness with the force only of representations that are dreamed. Willing, with its metabolic succedaneum, is experienced in turn only with that third degree of consciousness, totally dulled, which also persists in sleep. If we look more closely at this series, we shall notice that the experience of willing is in fact wholly different from the experience of representation or ideation. The latter is something like looking at a coloured surface: whereas willing is like looking at a black area in the middle of a coloured field. We see nothing there in the uncoloured part of the surface precisely because—unlike the surrounding part, from which colour impressions are received—no such impressions are at hand from it. We “have the idea” of willing, because within the psyche’s field of ideational experience a patch of non-ideation inserts itself, very much as the interruptions of consciousness brought about by sleep insert themselves into the continuum of conscious life. It is to these differing types of conscious apprehension that the soul owes the manifold variety of its experience in ideation, feeling and willing.

There are some noteworthy observations on feeling and willing in Theodor Ziehen’s Manual of Physiological Psychology—in many ways a standard work within the tradition of current scientific notions concerning the relation between the physical and the psychic. He deals with the relation between the various forms of representation and ideation on the one hand and neural function on the other in a way that is quite in accord with the anthroposophical approach. But when it comes to feeling (see Lecture 9 in his book), he has this to say:

The older psychology, almost without exception, treats of affects as manifestations of a special, independent faculty. Kant placed the feeling of desire and aversion, as a separate faculty, between those of cognition and appetite, and he expressly emphasised that any further reduction of the three to a common source was impossible. But our previous discussions have shown that feelings of desire and aversion have in fact no such independent existence, they are not any sounding of the “note of feeling”, but simply attributes or signals of sensations and representations.

Here is a theoretical approach which concedes to feeling no independent existence in the life of the soul, seeing it as a mere attribute of ideation. And the result is, it assumes that not only ideation but feeling also is supported by neural processes. The nervous system is thus the somatic element to which the entire psyche is appropriated. Yet the whole basis of this approach amounts to an unnoticed presupposition of the conclusions at which it expects to arrive. It accepts as psychic only what is related to neural processes and then draws the inference that what is not proper to these processes, namely feeling, must be treated as having no independent existence—as a mere signal of ideation.

To abandon this blind alley and return instead to unprejudiced observation of the psyche is to be definitively convinced of the independence of the whole life of feeling. But it is also to appreciate without reserve the actual findings of physiology and at the same time to gain from them the insight that feeling is, as already indicated, peculiar to the breathing-rhythm.

The methodology of natural science denies any sort of existential independence to the will. Unlike feeling, willing is not even a signal of ideation. But this negative assumption, too, is simply based on a prior decision (cf. p. 15 of Physiological Psychology) to assign the whole of the psyche to neural process. Yet the plain fact is that what constitutes the peculiar quality of willing cannot really be related to neural process as such. Thus, precisely because of the exemplary clarity with which Ziehen develops the ideas from which he starts, he is forced (as anyone must be) to conclude that analysis of psychic processes in their relation to the life of the body “affords no support to the assumption of a specific faculty of will”.

The fact remains that unprejudiced contemplation of the psyche obliges us to recognise the existential independence of the will, and accurate insight into the findings of physiology compels the conclusion that the will, as such, must be linked not with neural but with metabolic processes. If a man wants to form clear concepts in this field, then he must look at the findings of physiology and psychology in the light of the facts themselves and not, as so often happens in the present day practice of those sciences, in the light of preconceived opinions and definitions—not to mention theoretical sympathies and antipathies.¹

Most important of all, he must be able to discern very clearly the mutual interrelation of neural function, breathing-rhythm and metabolic activity respectively. These three forms of activity subsist, not alongside of, but within one another. They interpenetrate and enter each other. Metabolic activity is present at all points in the organism; it permeates both the rhythmic organs and the neural ones. But within the rhythmic it is not the somatic foundation of feeling, and within the neural it is not that of ideation. On the contrary, in both of these fields it is the correlative of will-activity permeating rhythm and permeating the nerves respectively. Only materialistic presupposition can relate the element of metabolism in the nerves with the process of ideation. Observation with its roots in reality reports quite differently. It is compelled to recognise that metabolism is present in the nerve to the extent that will is permeating it. And it is the same with the somatic apparatus for rhythm. Everything within that organ that is of the nature of metabolism has to do with the element of will present in it. It is always willing that must be brought into connection with metabolic activity, always feeling that must be related to rhythmic occurrence, irrespective of the particular organ in which metabolism and rhythm are operating.

But in the nerves something else goes on that is quite distinct from metabolism and rhythm. The somatic processes in the nervous system which provide the foundation for representation and ideation are physiologically difficult to grasp. That is because, wherever there is neural function, it is accompanied by the ideation which is ordinary consciousness. But the converse of this is also true. Where there is no ideation, there it is never specifically neural function we discern, but only metabolic activity in the nerve; or rhythmic occurrence in it, as the case may be. Neurology will never arrive at concepts that measure up to the facts, so long as it fails to see that the specifically neural activity of the nerves cannot possibly be an object of physiologically empirical observation. Anatomy and Physiology must bring themselves to recognise that neural function can be located only by a method of exclusion. The activity of the nerves is precisely that in them which is not perceptible by the senses, though the fact that it must be there can be inferred from what is so perceptible, and so can the specific nature of their activity. The only way of representing neural function to ourselves is to see in it those material events, by means of which the purely psycho-spiritual reality of the living content of ideation is subdued and devitalised (herabgelähmt) to the lifeless representations and ideas we recognise as our ordinary consciousness. Unless this concept finds its way somehow into physiology, physiology can have no hope of explicating neural activity.

At present physiology has committed itself to methods which conceal rather than reveal this concept. And psychology, too, has shut the door in her own face. Look, for instance, at the effects of Herbartian psychology. It confines its attention exclusively to the process of representation, and regards feeling and willing merely as effects consequent on that process. But, for cognition, these “effects” gradually peter out, unless at the same time a candid eye is kept on actual feeling and willing; with the result that we are prevented from reaching any valid correlation of feeling and willing with somatic processes. The body as a whole, not merely the nervous activity impounded in it, is the physical basis of psychic life. And, just as, for ordinary consciousness, psychic life is naturally classifiable in terms of ideation, feeling and willing, so is physical life classifiable in terms of neural function, rhythmic occurrence and metabolic process.

The question at once arises: in what way do the following enter and inhabit the organism: on the one hand, sense-perception proper, in which neural function merely terminates, and on the other the faculty of motion, which is the effusion of will? Unbiased observation discloses that neither the one nor the other of these belongs to the organism in the same sense that neural function, rhythmic occurrence and metabolic process belong to it. What goes on in the senses does not belong immediately to the organism at all. The external world reaches out into the senses, as though they were bays or inlets leading into the organism’s own existence. Compassing the processes that take place in the senses, the psyche does not participate in inner organic events; it participates in the extension of outer events into the organism.² In the same way, when physical motion is brought about, what we have to do with is not something that is actually situated within the organism, but an outward working of the organism into the physical equilibrium (or other dynamic relation) between the organism itself and its environment. Within the organism it is only a metabolic process that can be assigned to willing; but the event that is liberated through this process is at the same time an actual happening within the equilibrium, or the dynamics, of the external world. Exerting volition, the life of the psyche overreaches the domain of the organism and combines its action with a happening in the outer world.

The study of the whole matter has been greatly confused by the separation of the nerves into sensory and motor. Securely anchored as this distinction appears to be in contemporary physiological ideas, it is not supported by unbiased observation. The findings of physiology based on neural sections, or on the pathological elimination of certain nerves, do not prove what the experiment or the case-history is said to show. They prove something quite different. They prove that the supposed distinction between sensory and motor nerves does not exist. On the contrary, both kinds of nerve are essentially alike. The so called motor nerve does not implement movement in the manner that the theory of two kinds of nerve assumes. What happens is that the nerve as carrier of the neural function implements an inner perception of the particular metabolic process that underlies the will—in exactly the same way that the sensory nerve implements perception of what is coming to pass within the sense-organ. Unless and until neurological theory begins to operate in this domain with clear concepts, no satisfactory co-ordination of psychic and somatic life can come about.³

[ 3 ] Just as it is possible, psycho-physiologically, to pursue the interrelations between psychic and somatic life which come about in ideation, feeling and willing, in a similar way it is possible, by anthroposophical method, to investigate that relation which the psychic element in ordinary consciousness bears to the spiritual. Applying these methods, the nature of which I have described here and elsewhere, we find that, while representation, or ideation, has a basis in the body in the shape of neural activity or function, it also has a basis in the spiritual. In the other direction—the direction away from the body—the soul stands in relation to a noetically real, which is the basis for the ideation that is characteristic of ordinary consciousness. But this noetic reality can only be experienced through imaginal cognition. And it is so experienced in so far as its content discloses itself to contemplation in the form of coherently linked (gegliederte) imaginations. Just as, in the direction of the body, representation rests on the activity of the nerves, so from the other direction does it issue from a noetic reality, which discloses itself in the form of imaginations.

It is this noetic, or spiritual, component of the organism which I have termed in my writings the etheric or life-body. And in doing so I invariably point out that the term “body” is no more vulnerable to objection than the other term “ether”; because my exposition clearly shows that neither of them is predicated materially. This life-body (elsewhere I have also sometimes used the expression “formative-forces body”) is that phase of the spiritual, whence the representational life of ordinary consciousness, beginning with birth—or, say, conception—and ending with death, continuously originates.

The feeling-component of ordinary consciousness rests, on the bodily side, on rhythmic occurrence. From the spiritual side it streams from a level of spiritual reality that is investigated, in anthroposophical research, by methods which I have, in my writings, designated as inspirational. (Here again it is emphasised that I employ this term solely with the meaning I have given it in my own descriptions; it is not to be equated with inspiration in the colloquial sense.) In the spiritual reality that lies at the base of the soul and is apprehensible though inspiration there is disclosed that phase of the spiritual, proper to the human being, which extends beyond birth and death. It is in this field that anthroposophy brings its spiritual investigations to bear on the problem of immortality. As the mortal part of the sentient human being manifests itself through rhythmic occurrences in the body, so does the immortal spirit kernel of the soul reveal itself in the inspiration-content of intuitive consciousness.

For such an intuitive consciousness the will, which depends, in the somatic direction, on metabolic processes, issues forth from the spirit through what in my writings I have termed authentic intuitions. What is, from one point of view, the “lowest” somatic activity (metabolism) is correlative to a spiritually highest one. Hence, ideation, which relies on neural activity, achieves something like a perfection of somatic manifestation; while the bodily processes associated with willing are only a feeble reflection of willing. The real representation is alive, but, as somatically conditioned, it is subdued and deadened. The content remains the same. Real willing, on the other hand, whether or no it finds an outcome in the physical world, takes its course in regions that are accessible only to intuitive vision; its somatic correlative has almost nothing to do with its content. It is at this level of spiritual reality, disclosed to intuition, that we find influences from previous terrestrial lives at work in later ones. And it is in this kind of context that anthroposophy approaches the problems of repeated lives and of destiny. As the body fulfils its life in neural function, rhythmic occurrence and metabolic process, so the human spirit discloses its life in all that becomes apparent in imaginations, inspirations and intuitions. The body, within its own field, affords participation in its external world in two directions, in sensuous happenings and in motor happenings; and so does the spirit—in so far as that experiences the representations of the psyche imaginally (even in ordinary consciousness) from the one direction, while in the other—in willing—it in-forms the intuitive impulses that are realising themselves through metabolic processes. Looking towards the body, we find neural activity that is taking the form of representation-experience, ideation; looking towards the spirit, we realise the spirit-content of the imagination that is flowing into precisely that ideation.

Brentano was primarily sensitive to the noetic side of the psyche’s experience in representation. That is why he characterises this experience as figurative, i.e. as an imaginal event. Yet when it is not only the private content of the soul that is being experienced, but also a somewhat that demands judgmental acknowledgment or repudiation, then there is added to the representation a soul experience deriving from spirit. The content of this experience remains “unconscious” in the ordinary sense, because it consists of imaginations of a spiritual that existentially underpins the physical object. These imaginations add nothing to the representation except that its content exists. Hence Brentano’s diremption of mere representation (which imaginally experiences merely an inwardly present) from judgment (which imaginally experiences an externally given; but which is aware of that experience only as existential acknowledgment or repudiation).

When it comes to feeling, Brentano has no eyes for its somatic basis in rhythmic occurrence; instead he limits his field of observation to love and hate; that is, to .vestiges, in the sphere of ordinary consciousness, of inspirations which themselves remain unconscious. Lastly the will is outside his purview altogether; because he is determined to direct his gaze only to phenomena within the psyche; and because there is something in the will that is not encapsulated in the soul, but of which the soul avails itself in order to participate in the outside world. Brentano’s divisive classification of psychological phenomena may therefore be characterised as follows: he takes his stand at a vantage-point which is truly illuminating, but is only so if the eye is focused on the spirit-kernel of the soul—and yet he insists on aiming from there at the phenomena of ordinary everyday consciousness.⁴

• 1. Compare p.79 FN.
• 2. For a critical treatment of this subject see my lecture to the Philosophical Congress at >Bologna, 1911.
• 3. In September 1954, forty-seven years after the above words were written, Dr. J. A. V. Bates of the neurological Research Unit (National Hospital) read his paper, Can Voluntary Movement be Localized in the Cerebral Cortex? to a meeting of the British Association at Oxford. He began by demonstrating, on a number of technical grounds, that the inferences drawn from certain well-known facts of observation are not valid inferences, since those facts do not prove that the so-called motor nerve implements movement in the manner that the theory of two kinds of nerve fibre assumes. We should, he suggested. “cease to regard the cerebro-spinal tract as an efferent tract from an area where movements are represented”; and he drew attention to the fact that a similar interpretation of the then observed facts had been brought forward by Francois Franck as long ago as 1886 but had been rejected in flavour of Ferrier’s hypothesis of efferent and afferent nerve fibres. See also Observations on the Excitable Cortex  in Man by J. A. V. Bates (“Lectures on the Scientific Basis of Medicine” Volume V:1955-56).
  
  While engaged on this translation, I ventured to write to the author to enquire after the subsequent fate of what was clearly an attempt (to quote from this selection) to “look at the findings of physiology and psychology in the light of the facts themselves, and not, as so often happens in the present-day practice of those sciences, in the light of preconceived opinions and definitions....” I gather from him that it has neither been answered on the one hand, nor accepted on the other. It appears in fact to have been, at least explicitly ignored—as (with the possible exception of pure physics) is evidently the normal practice with scientific interpretation or hypotheses, however well supported experimentally, that are radical enough to interfere with theories so long accepted as to have become embodied in definitions. In his obliging reply to my letter Dr. Bates put the present position as follows:
  
  “I would say that in the last fifteen years what I referred to as the classical hypothesis has come to be held with far less conviction by most of those who are researching in the field, but that it is still taught in text books, and will remain a seductive hypothesis for the beginner, I’m afraid for many years.”—Editor
• 4. The Section concludes with a remark that these observations are intended as supplementary to a passage in the memorial address on Brentano, which constitutes Chapter III of Von Seelenrätseln. The passage is on page 90.