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The Child's Changing Consciousness and Waldorf Education
GA 306

18 April 1923, Dornach

Lecture IV

In our previous meetings I have tried to direct you into what we understand as knowledge of the human being. Some of what is still missing will surely find its way into our further considerations during this conference. I have also told you that this knowledge of the human being is not the kind that will lead to theories, but one that can become human instinct, ensouled and spiritual instinct that, when translated into actions, can lead to living educational principles and practice. Of course, you must realize that in giving lectures of this kind, it is only possible to point the way, in the form of indications, to what such knowledge of the human being can do for the furtherance of practical teaching. But just because our primary goal is toward practical application, I can give only broad outlines, something that is very unpopular these days. Few people are sufficiently aware that anything expressed in words can, at best, be only a hint, a mere indication of what is far more complex and multifarious in actual life.

If we remember that young children are essentially ensouled sense organs, entirely given over in a bodily-religious way to what comes toward them from the surrounding world, we shall see to it that, until the change of teeth, everything within their vicinity is suitable to be received through their senses, thereafter to be worked on inwardly. Most of all, we have to be aware that whenever the child perceives with the senses, at the same time the child also absorbs the inherent moral element of what is perceived through the soul and spirit. This means that at the approach of the change of teeth, we have already set the scene for the most important impulses of later life, and that when the child enters school, we are no longer faced with a blank page but with one already full of content.

And now that we are moving more toward the practical aspects of education, we have to consider that between the change of teeth and puberty nothing entirely original can be initiated in the child. Instead, it is the teacher's task to recognize the impulses already implanted during the first seven years. They have to direct these impulses toward what is likely to be demanded of the pupils in their later lives. This is why it is of such importance for teachers to be able to perceive what is stirring within their pupils; for there is more here than meets the eye in these life-stirrings when children enter school. Teachers must not simply decide what they are going to do, or which method is right or wrong. It is far more important for them to recognize what is inwardly stirring and moving in these children—in order to guide and develop them further.

Naturally, this is bound to raise a question, which we have thus far been unable to answer in the Waldorf school since it has not yet become practical to open a kindergarten. The work entailed in bringing up and educating children from birth until the change of teeth is certainly most important. But since in the Waldorf school we are already facing great difficulties in coping with the demands involved in teaching children of official school age, we cannot possibly think of opening a kindergarten, because every year we also have to open a new class for our oldest pupils.1The first kindergarten in the Waldorf School was opened a short time later under Steiner's direction. So far we have started with an eight-year course in the Waldorf school. At present we could not possibly entertain the idea of also opening a kindergarten, or something similar, as a preparatory step for our first grade. People who take a somewhat lighthearted view of these things may be of the opinion that the only thing needed is to begin with a nursery or kindergarten, and the rest will surely follow. But things are not that simple. A fully comprehensive, yet detailed program is needed that covers both the pedagogical and practical aspects of teaching in a nursery class. To devote oneself to such a task is impossible as long as a new class has to be added every year.

The seriousness and responsibility involved in the so-called movements for school reform is recognized by far too few people. To unprofessional, although well-meaning persons, it seems enough to voice demands, which are easy enough to make. In our day, when everybody is so clever—I am not being sarcastic, I am quite serious—nothing is easier than to formulate demands. All that is needed in our society, which is simply bursting with cleverness, is for eleven or twelve people—even three or four would be brainy enough—to come together to work out a perfect program for school reform, listing their requirements in order of priority. I have no doubt that such theoretical demands would be highly impressive. These programs, compiled in the abstract today in many places, are very cleverly conceived. Because people have become so intellectual, they excel in achievements of an external and abstract kind.

But if one judges these matters out of real life experience and not intellectually, the situation is not unlike one where a number of people have come together to discuss and decide what the performance of an efficient stove should be. Obviously they would come up with a whole list of “categorical imperatives,” such as that the stove must be capable of heating the room adequately, it must not emit smoke, and so on. But, though the various points made may be convincing enough, knowledge of them alone would hardly result in the necessary know-how to light it, keep it going, and control its heat. To be able to do this one has to learn other things as well. In any case, depending on the location of the room, the condition of the chimney and possibly on other factors as well, it may not even be possible to fulfill the conditions so competently set forth.

But this is how most of the programs for school reform are arrived at today—more or less in an equally abstract manner as the requirements for the hypothetical stove. This is the reason why one cannot contravene them, for they no doubt contain much that is correct. But to cope with the practical needs of an existing school is something very different from making demands that, ideally speaking, are justified. Here one does not have to deal with how things ought to be, but with a number of actual pupils. Here one has to deal—allow me to mention it, for it is all part of school life—with a definite number of teachers of varying gifts and abilities. All this has to be reckoned with. There is no problem in planning a program for school reform in the abstract. But the concrete reality is that only a certain number of gifted teachers are available and it may not even be possible for them to fulfill the demands agreed upon in theory.

This fundamental difference between life as it is and an intellectual approach to it is something our present society is no longer able to appreciate. Because it has become so accustomed to an intellectual interpretation of life, it can no longer perceive this quality, least of all where it is most patently present. Anyone who is aware of the great difference between theory and practice will detect the worst excesses of impractical theories in our present business life. In reality the structure of today's business life has become as theoretical as can be. Those in control grasp power with robust hands. They use their elbows and often brutally push through their theoretical policies. This goes on until the business is ruined. In the economic sphere it is possible to proceed intellectually. But in a situation where one meets life in the raw, such as in a school (where it is not simply a case of helping oneself, but where existing impulses have to be worked on) even the most beautiful theories are of little use unless they offer the possibility of working pragmatically and out of a truly individual knowledge of what the human being is. This is the reason why teachers whose heads are full of pedagogical theories are usually least fit for practical classroom situations. More capable by far are those who still teach out of a certain instinct, teachers who, out of their natural love for children, are able to recognize and to meet them. But today it is no longer possible to rely on instinct, unless it is backed by spiritual knowledge. Modern life has become too complex for such a way of life, which would be possible only under more primitive conditions, under conditions almost bordering on the level of animal life.

All this has to be considered if one wishes to see what is being presented here in the right light, as a really practical form of pedagogy. Generally speaking, education has followed in the footsteps of our modern civilization, which has gradually become more and more materialistic. A symptom of this is the frequent use of mechanical methods in preference to organic methods, and this just during the early years of childhood up to the change of teeth, which is the most impressionable and important time of life. We must not lose sight of the fact that up to the second dentition the child lives by imitation. The serious side of life, with all its demands in daily work, is re-enacted in deep earnestness by the child in its play, as I mentioned yesterday. The difference between a child's play and an adult's work is that an adult's contribution to society is governed by a sense of purpose and has to fit into outer demands, whereas the child wants to be active simply out of an inborn and natural impulse. Play activity streams outward from within. Adult work takes the opposite direction, namely inwards from the periphery. The significant and most important task for grade school consists in just this gradual progression from play to work. And if one is able to answer in practical terms the great question of how a child's play can gradually be transformed into work, one has solved the fundamental problem during those middle years from seven to fourteen.

In their play, children mirror what happens around them; they want to imitate. But because the key to childhood has been lost through inadequate knowledge of the human being, all kinds of artificial play activities for children of kindergarten age have been intellectually contrived by adults. Since children want to imitate the work of the adults, special games have been invented for their benefit, such as “Lay the Little Sticks,” or whatever else these things are called. These artificial activities actually deflect the child's inner forces from flowing out of the organism as a living stream that finds a natural outlet in the child's desire to imitate those who are older. Through all kinds of mechanical manipulations children are encouraged to do things not at all suitable to their age. Particularly during the nineteenth century, programs for preschool education were determined that entailed activities a child should not really do; for the entire life of a preschool class revolves around the children adapting to the few people in charge, who should behave naturally so that the children feel stimulated to imitate whatever their teachers do.

It is unnecessary for preschool staff to go from one child to another and show each one what to do. Children do not yet want to follow given instructions. All they want is to copy what the adult does, so the task of a kindergarten teacher is to adjust the work taken from daily life so that it becomes suitable for the children's play activities. There is no need to devise occupations like those adults meet in life—except under special circumstances—such as work that requires specialized skills. For example, children of preschool age are told to make parallel cuts in strips of paper and then to push multi-colored paper strips through the slits so that a woven colored pattern finally emerges. This kind of mechanical process in a kindergarten actually prevents children from engaging in normal or congenial activities. It would be better to give them some very simple sewing or embroidery to do. Whatever a young child is told to do should not be artificially contrived by adults who are comfortable in our intellectual culture, but should arise from the tasks of ordinary life. The whole point of a preschool is to give young children the opportunity to imitate life in a simple and wholesome way.

This adjustment to adult life is an immensely important pedagogical task until kindergarten age, with all its purposefulness, so that what is done there will satisfy the child's natural and inborn need for activity. To contrive little stick games or design paper weaving cards is simple enough. It is a tremendously important and necessary task to whittle down our complicated forms of life, such as a child does when, for example, a little boy plays with a spade or some other tool, or when a girl plays with a doll; in this way children transform adult occupations into child's play, including the more complicated activities of the adult world. It is time-consuming work for which hardly any previous “spade-work” has thus far been done. One needs to recognize that in children's imitation, in all their sense-directed activities, moral and spiritual forces are working—artistic impulses that allow the child to respond in an entirely individual way.

Give a child a handkerchief or a piece of cloth, knot it so that a head appears above and two legs below, and you have made a doll or a kind of clown. With a few ink stains you can give it eyes, nose, and mouth, or even better, allow the child to do it, and with such a doll, you will see a healthy child have great joy. Now the child can add many other features belonging to a doll, through imagination and imitation within the soul. It is far better if you make a doll out of a linen rag than if you give the child one of those perfect dolls, possibly with highly colored cheeks and smartly dressed, a doll that even closes its eyes when put down horizontally, and so on. What are you doing if you give the child such a doll? You are preventing the unfolding of the child's own soul activity. Every time a completely finished object catches its eye, the child has to suppress an innate desire for soul activity, the unfolding of a wonderfully delicate, awakening fantasy. You thus separate children from life, because you hold them back from their own inner activity. So much for the child until the change of teeth.

When children enter school, we are very likely to meet a certain inner opposition, mainly toward reading and writing, as mentioned yesterday. Try to see the situation through a child's eyes. There stands a man. He has black or blond hair. He has a forehead, nose, eyes. He has legs. He walks, and he holds something in his hands. He says something. He has his own thought-life. This is father. And now the child is supposed to accept that this sign, FATHER represents an actual father. There is not the slightest reason why a child should do so.

Children bring formative forces with them, forces eager to flow out of the organism. Previously, these forces were instrumental in effecting the wonderful formation of the brain with its attendant nervous system. They accomplished the wonderful formation of the second teeth. One should become modest and ask how one could possibly create, out of one's own resources, these second teeth on the basis of the first baby teeth; what sublime powers of wisdom, of which we are totally unaware, work in all these forces! The child was entirely surrendered to this unconscious wisdom weaving through the formative forces. Children live in space and time, and now, suddenly, they are supposed to make sense of everything that is imposed on them by learning to read and write.

It is not proper to lead children directly into the final stages of our advanced culture. We must lead them in harmony with what wants to flow from their own being. The right way of introducing the child to reading and writing is to allow the formative forces—which up to its seventh year have been working upon the physical organization and which now are being released for outer soul activities—to become actively engaged.

For example, instead of presenting the child directly with letters or even complete words, you draw something looking like this:

Diagram 4

In this way, by appealing to the formative forces in its soul, you will find that now the child can remember something that has actual meaning, something already grasped by the child's formative forces. Such a child will tell you, “That is a mouth.” And now you can ask it to say, “Mmmouth.” Then you ask it to leave out the end part of the word, gradually getting the child to pronounce “Mmm.” Next you can say, “Let us paint what you have just said.” We have left something out, therefore this is what we paint:

Diagram 4

And now let us make it even simpler:

Diagram 4

It has become the letter M.

Or we might draw something looking like this.

Diagram 4

The child will say, “Fish.” The teacher responds, “Let's make this fish simpler.” Again one will ask the child to sound only the first letter, in this way obtaining the letter F. And so, from these pictures, we lead to abstract letter forms.

There is no need to go back into history to show how contemporary writing evolved from ancient pictography. For our pedagogical purposes it is really unnecessary to delve into the history of civilization. All we have to do is find our way—helped along by wings of fantasy—into this method, and then, no matter what language we speak, choose some characteristic words that we then transform into pictures and finally derive the actual letters from them. In this way we work together with what the child wants inwardly during and immediately after the change of teeth. From this you will understand that, after having introduced writing by drawing a painting and by painting a drawing (it is good for children to use color immediately because they live in color, as everyone who deals with them knows), one can then progress to reading. This is because the entire human being is active in writing. The hand is needed, and the whole body has to adapt itself—even if only to a slight degree; the entire person is involved. Writing, when evolved through painting-drawing, is still more concrete than reading. When reading—well, one just sits, one has already become like a timid mouse, because only the head has to work. Reading has already become abstract. It should be evolved by degrees as part of the whole process.

But if one adopts this method in order to work harmoniously with human nature, it can become extraordinarily difficult to withstand modern prejudices. Naturally, pupils will learn to read a little later than expected today, and if they have to change schools they appear less capable than the other students in their new class. Yet, is it really justified that we cater to the views of a materialistic culture with its demands concerning what an eight-year-old child should know? The real point is that it may not be beneficial at all for such a child to learn to read too early. By doing so, something is being blocked for life. If children learn to read too early, they are led prematurely into abstractions. If reading were taught a little later, countless potential sclerotics could lead happier lives. Such hardening of the entire human organism—to give it a simpler name—manifests in the most diverse forms of sclerosis later in life, and can be traced back to a faulty method of introducing reading to a child. Of course, such symptoms can result from many other causes as well, but the point is that the effects of soul and spirit on a person's physical constitution are enhanced hygienically if the teaching at school is attuned to human nature. If you know how to form your lessons properly, you will be able to give your students the best foundation for health. And you can be sure that, if the methods of modern educational systems were healthier, far fewer men would be walking around with bald heads!

People with a materialistic outlook give too little attention to the mutual interaction between the soul-spiritual nature and the physical body. Again and again I want to point out that the tragedy of the current materialistic attitude is that it no longer understands the material processes—which it observes only externally—and that it no longer recognizes how a moral element enters the physical. Already the way the human being is treated—one could almost say mistreated—by our natural science is likely to lead to misconceptions about what a human being is. You need only think of the usual kinds of illustrations found in contemporary textbooks on physiology or anatomy, where you see pictures of the skeleton, the nervous system, and the blood circulation. The way these are drawn is very suggestive, implying that they are a true representation of reality. And yet, they do not convey the actual facts at all—or at best, only ten percent of them, because ninety percent of the human body consists of liquid substances that constantly flow and, consequently, cannot be drawn in fixed outlines. Now you may say, “Physiologists know that!” True, but this knowledge remains within the circle of physiologists. It does not enter society as a whole, particularly because of the strongly suggestive influence of these illustrations.

People are even less aware of something else. Not only does solid matter make up the smallest portion of our physical body, while the largest part by far is liquid, but we are also creatures of air every moment of our lives. One moment the air around us is inside us, and in the next, the air within our body is outside again. We are part of the surrounding air that is constantly fluctuating within us. And what about the conditions of warmth? In reality we have to discriminate between our solid, liquid, gaseous, and warmth organizations. These distinctions could be extended further, but for now we will stop here.

It will become evident that meaningless and erroneous ideas are maintained about these matters when we consider the following: If these illustrations of the skeleton, the nervous system, and so on, really represented the true situation—always implying that the human being is a solid organism—if this were really the whole truth, then it would be little wonder if the moral element, the life of the soul, could not penetrate this solid bone matter or this apparently rigid blood circulation. The physical and moral life would require separate existences. But if you include the liquid, gaseous, and warmth organizations in your picture of the individual, then you have a fine agent, a refined entity—for example, in the varying states of warmth—that allows the existing moral constitution to extend also into the physical processes of warmth. If your picture is based on reality, you will come to find this unity between what has physical nature and what has moral nature. This is what you have to remember when working with the growing human being. It is essential to have this awareness.

And so it is very important for us to look at the totality of the human being and find our way, unimpeded by generally accepted physiological-psychological attitudes. It will enable us to know how to treat the child who will otherwise develop inner opposition toward what must be learned. It should be our aim to allow our young students to grow gradually and naturally into their subjects, because then they will also love what they have to learn. But this will happen only if their inner forces become involved fully in these new activities.

The most damaging effects, just during the age of seven to nine, are caused by one-sided illusions, by fixed ideas about how certain things should be taught. For example, the nineteenth century—but this was already prepared for in the eighteenth century—was tremendously proud of the new phonetic method of teaching reading that superseded the old method of making words by adding single letters—a method that was again replaced by the whole-word method. And because today people are too embarrassed to openly respect old ways, one will hardly find anyone prepared to defend the old spelling method. According to present opinion, such a person would be considered an old crank, because enthusiasm about an old-fashioned spelling method is simply not appropriate. The phonetic and the whole-word method carry the day. One feels very proud of the phonetic method, teaching the child to develop a feeling for the quality of sounds. No longer do young pupils learn to identify separate letters, such as P, N, or R; they are taught to pronounce the letters as they sound in a word.

There is nothing wrong with that. The whole-word method is also good, and it sometimes even begins by analyzing a complete sentence, from which the teacher progresses to separate words and then to single sounds. It is bad, however, when these things become fads. The ideas that underlie all three methods are good—there is no denying that each has its merits. But what is it that makes this so? Imagine that you know a person only from a photograph showing a front view. The picture will have created a certain image within you of that person. Now imagine that another picture falls into your hands, and someone tells you that this is the same person. The second picture shows a side view and creates such a different impression that you may be convinced that it could not be the same person. Yet in reality both photographs show the same individual, but from different angles. And this is how it always is in life: everything has to be considered from different angles. It is easy to fall in love with one's own particular perspective because it appears to be so convincing. And so one might, with good reasons, defend the spelling method, the phonetic method, or the whole-word method to the extent that anyone else with an opposite opinion could not refute one's arguments. Yet even the best of reasons may prove to be only one-sided. In real life, everything has to be considered from the most varied angles.

If the letter forms have been gained through painting drawings and drawing paintings, and if one has gone on to a kind of phonetic or whole-word method—which is now appropriate because it leads the child to an appreciation of a wholeness, and prevents it from becoming too fixed in details—if all this has been done, there is still something else that has been overlooked in our materialistic climate. It is this: the single sound, by itself, the separate M or P, this also represents a reality. And it is important to see that, when a sound is part of a word, it has already entered the external world, already passed into the material and physical world. What we have in our soul are the sounds as such, and these depend largely on our soul nature. When we pronounce letters, such as the letter M, for example, we actually say “em.” Ancient Greeks did not do this; they pronounced it “mu.” In other words, they pronounced the auxiliary vowel after the consonant, whereas we put it before the consonant. In Middle Europe today, we make the sound of a letter by proceeding from the vowel to the consonant, but in ancient Greece only the reverse path was taken.2In several European languages the vowel sound added to a consonantal letter is pronounced either before or after the consonant (that is, em, but dee). It is conceivable that here the stenographer may have omitted the word “often,” and the text may have read “In Middle Europe today we often make the sound of a letter by proceeding from the vowel to the consonant ...”—Translator. This indicates the underlying soul condition of the people concerned.

Here we have a significant and important phenomenon. If you look at language, not just from an external or utilitarian perspective (since language today has become primarily a way of transmitting thoughts or messages, and words are hardly more than symbols of outer things), and if you return to the soul element living in the word—living in language as a whole—you will find the way back to the true nature of the so-called sound; every sound with a quality of the consonant has an entirely different character from a vowel sound.

As you know, there are many different theories explaining the origin of language. (This is a situation similar to photographs taken from different angles.) Among others, there is the so-called bow-wow theory, which represents the view that words imitate sounds that come from different beings or objects. According to this theory, when people first began to speak, they imitated characteristic external sounds. For example, they heard a dog barking, “bow-wow.” If they wanted to express a similar soul mood they produced a similar sound. No one can refute such an idea. On the contrary, there are many valid reasons to support the bow-wow theory. As long as one argues only from this particular premise, it is indisputable. But life does not consist of proofs and refutations; life is full of living movement, transformation, living metamorphosis. What is correct in one particular situation can be wrong in another, and vice versa. Life has to be comprehended in all its mobility.

As you may know, there is another theory, called the ding-dong theory, whose adherents strongly oppose the bow-wow theory. According to this second theory, the origin of language is explained in the following way: When a bell is struck, the ensuing sound is caused by the specific constitution of its metal. A similar mutual relationship between object and sound is also ascribed to human speech. The ding-dong theory represents more of a feeling into the materiality of things, rather than an imitation of external sounds.

Again, this theory is really correct in certain respects. Much could be said for either of these theories. In reality, however, language did not arise exclusively according to the ding-dong theory nor the bow-wow theory, although both theories have elements of truth. Many other related factors would also have to be considered, but each theory, in isolation, gives only a one-sided perspective. There are many instances in our language that exemplify the ding-dong theory, and many others where sound represents an imitation, as in “bow-wow,” or in the “moo” of lowing cattle. The fact is, both theories are correct, and many others as well. What is important is to get hold of life as it actually is; and if one does this, one will find that the bow-wow theory is more related to vowels, and the ding-dong theory related more to consonants. Again, not entirely, however; such a statement would also be one-sided, because eventually one will see that the consonants are formed as a kind of reflection of events or shapes in our environment, as I have indicated already in the little book The Spiritual Guidance of the Individual and Humanity.3Rudolf Steiner, The Spiritual Guidance of the Individual and Humanity, Anthroposophic Press, Hudson, NY, 1992. Thus the letter F is formed as a likeness of the fish, M as a likeness of the mouth, or L like leaping, and so on.

To a certain extent, the origin of the consonants could be explained by the ding-dong theory, except that it would have to be worked out in finer detail. The vowels, on the other hand, are a way of expressing and revealing a person's inner nature. The forms of the letters that express vowel sounds do not imitate external things at all, but express human feelings of sympathy and antipathy. Feelings of joy or curiosity are expressed, therefore, by the sound EE; amazement or wonder; “I am astonished!” is expressed by AH; A (as in path) expresses “I want to get rid of something that irritates me.” U (as in you) expresses “I am frightened.” I (as in kind) conveys “I like you.”

Vowels reveal directly feelings of sympathy and antipathy. Far from being the result of imitation, they enable human beings to communicate likes and dislikes. When hearing a dog's threatening bark, human beings—if their feelings are like those of the dog—adapt their own experiences to the bow-wow sound of the dog, and so on. Vocalizing leads outward from within, whereas forming consonants represents a movement inward from outside. Consonants reproduce outer things. Simply by making these sounds, one is copying outer nature. You can confirm this for yourselves if you go into further detail.

Since all of this applies only to sounds rather than words, however, you can appreciate that, when using the analytic method, one is actually going from the whole word to the original soul condition. In general, we must always try to recognize what the child at each stage is requesting inwardly; then we can proceed in freedom—just as a good photographer does when asking clients to look in many different directions in order to capture their personalities while taking their pictures (and thereby making these sessions so tedious!). Similarly, a complete view is essential if one wants to comprehend the human being in depth.

With the whole-word method one gains only the physical aspect. With the phonetic method one approaches the soul realm. And—no matter how absurd this may sound—with the spelling method one actually enters the realm of the soul. Today this last method is, of course, seen as a form of idiocy; without a doubt, however, it is more closely related to the soul than the other methods. It must not be applied directly, but needs to be introduced with a certain pedagogical skill and artistry that avoids an overly one-sided exercise in conventional pronunciation of the letters. Instead, the child will gain some experience of how letters came about, and this is something that can live within the formative forces, something real for the child. This is the core of the matter. And if young pupils have been taught in this way they will be able to read in due time—perhaps a few months after the ninth year. It doesn't really matter if they cannot read earlier, because they have learned it naturally and in a wholesome way. Depending on the various children's responses, this stage may occur a little earlier or later.

The ninth year marks the beginning of a smaller life cycle—the larger ones have already been spoken of several times. They are: from birth to the change of teeth; from the change of teeth to puberty; and from then into the twenties. These days, however, by the time young people have reached their twenties, one no longer dares speak to them of another developmental phase, which will peak after the age of twenty-one. This would be considered a pure insult! At that age they feel fully mature—they already publish their own articles in newspapers and magazines. And so one has to exercise great discretion in speaking about life's later stages of development. But it is important for the educator to know about the larger life periods and also about the smaller ones contained in them. Between the ninth and the tenth years, but closer to the ninth, one of the smaller periods begins, when a child gradually awakens to the difference between self and the surrounding world. Only then does a child become aware of being a separate I. All teaching before this stage should therefore make the child feel at one with the surroundings.

The most peculiar ideas have been expressed to explain this phenomenon. For example, you may have heard people say, “When a young child gets hurt by running into a corner, the reaction is to hit the corner.” An intellectual interpretation of this phenomenon would be that one hits back only if one has consciously received a hurt or an injury consciously inflicted. And this is how the child's response in hitting a table or other object is explained. This kind of definition always tempts one to quote the Greek example of a definition of the human being—that is, a human being is a living creature who has two legs but no feathers. As far as definitions go, this is actually correct. It leads us back into the times of ancient Greece. I won't go into details to show that present definitions in physics are often not much better, because there children are also taught frequently that a human being is a creature that walks on two legs and has no feathers. A boy who was a bit brighter than the rest thought about this definition. He caught a cockerel, plucked its feathers, and took it to school. He presented the plucked bird, saying, “This is a human being! It is a creature that walks on two legs and has no feathers.” Well, definitions may have their uses, but they are almost always one-sided.

The important thing is to find one's way into life as it really is—something I have to repeat time and again. The point is that before the ninth year a child does not yet distinguish between self and surroundings. Therefore one cannot say that a little child, when hitting the table that caused it pain, imagines the table to be a living thing. It would never occur to a child to think so. This so-called animism, the bestowal of a soul on an inanimate object—an idea that has already crept into our history of civilization—is something that simply does not exist. The fantastic theories of some of our erudite scholars, who believe they have discovered that human beings endow inanimate objects with a soul, are truly astonishing. Whole mythologies have been explained away in light of this theory. It strikes one that people who spread such ideas have never met a primitive person. For example, it would never occur to a simple peasant who has remained untouched by our sophisticated ways of life to endow natural phenomena with a soul quality. Concepts such as ensouling or animation of dead objects simply do not exist for the child. The child feels alive, and consequently everything around the child must also be alive. But even such a primitive idea does not enter children's dim and dreamy consciousness. This is why, when teaching pupils under nine, you must not let the children's environment and all that it contains appear as something separate from them. You must allow plants to come to life—indeed, everything must live and speak to children, because they do not yet distinguish between themselves and the world as a whole.

It is obvious from this that, before the ninth year, you cannot reach children with any kind of intellectual descriptions. Everything has to be transformed into pictures, into fresh and living pictures. As soon as you go on to a more direct description, you will not achieve anything during the eighth to ninth year. This approach becomes possible only later. One has to find the way into each specific life period. Until the ninth year children only understand a pictorial presentation. Anything else bypasses them, just as sound bypasses the eye. But between the ninth and tenth years, as children gradually become more aware of their own identity, you can begin to present more factual descriptions of plants. However, it is not yet possible to describe anything that belongs to the mineral kingdom, because the children's newly evolving capacity to differentiate between self and world is not yet strong enough to allow them to comprehend the significant difference between what is inherently alive and what belongs to the dead mineral world. Children at this stage can only appreciate the difference between themselves and a plant. Thereafter you can gradually progress to a description of animals. But again this has to be done so that the introduction to the animal world remains real for the child.

Today there is an established form of botany, and along with that a tendency to introduce this subject just as it is in the lower grades. This is done out of a kind of laziness, but it really is an appalling thing to present the botany of adults to younger classes. What is this botany of ours in actuality? It is made up of a systematic classification of plants, arranged according to certain accepted principles. First come the fungi, then algae, ranunculaceae, and so on—one family placed neatly next to another. But if such a branch of science (which itself may be quite acceptable) is taught to young children in schools, it is almost like arranging different kinds of hairs, plucked from a human body, and classifying them systematically according to where they grew—behind the ears, on the head, on the legs, and so on. Following this method, you might manage to build up a very impressive system, but it would not help you understand the true nature of hair. And because it seems almost too obvious, one might easily neglect to relate the various types of hair to the human being as an entity. The plant world does not have its own separate existence either, because it is part of Earth. You may think that you know the laburnum from what you find about it in a botany book. I have no objections to its botanical classification. But to understand why its blossoms are yellow, you have to see it on a sunny slope, and you have to include in your observation the various layers of soil from which it grows. Only then can you realize that its yellow color is connected with the colors of the soil from which it grows! But in this situation you look at this plant as you would look at hair growing out of a human body. Earth and plants—as far as the child knows them already—remain one. You must not teach adult botany in the lower grades, and this means you cannot describe a plant without, at the same time, also talking about the Sun shining on it, about climatic conditions and the configuration of the soil—in a manner appropriate to the age of the child, of course.

To teach botany as this is done in demonstrations—taking isolated plants, one next to another, violates the child's nature. Even in demonstrations everything depends on the choice of object to be studied. The child has an instinctive feeling for what is living and for what is truly real. If you bring something dead, you wound what is alive in the child, you attack a child's sense of truth and reality. But these days there is little awareness of the subtle differences in these qualities. Imagine contemporary philosophers pondering the concept of being, of existence. It would make very little difference to them whether they chose a crystal or a blossom as an object of contemplation, because both of them are. One can place them both on a table, and both things exist. But this is not the truth at all! In regard to their being, they are not homogeneous. You can pick up the rock crystal again after three years; it is by the power of its own existence. But the blossom is not as it appears at all. A blossom, taken by itself, is a falsehood in nature. In order to assign existence or being to the blossom, one has to describe the entire plant. By itself, the blossom is an abstraction in the world of matter. This is not true of the rock crystal. But people today have lost the sense for such differentiations within the reality of things.

Children, however, still have this feeling by instinct. If you bring something to children that is not a whole, they experience a strange feeling, which can follow them into later life. Otherwise Tagore would not have described the sinister impression that the amputated leg had on him in his childhood. A human leg in itself does not represent reality, it has nothing to do with reality. For a leg is only a leg as long as it is part of a whole organism. If cut off, it ceases to be a leg.

Such things have to become flesh and blood again so that, by progressing from the whole to the parts, we comprehend reality. It can happen all too easily that we treat a separate part in a completely wrong way if we isolate it. In the case of botany in the lower grades, therefore, we must start with the Earth as a whole and look at the plants as if they were the hair growing out of it.

With regard to the animal world, children cannot relate properly to the animal at all if you follow the common method of classification. Since animal study is introduced only in the tenth or eleventh year, you can then expect a little more from the children. But to teach the study of animals according to the usual classification has little real meaning for students of that age, even if this method is scientifically justified. The reality is that the entire animal kingdom represents a human being that is spread out. Take a lion, for example; there you see a onesided development of the chest organization. Take the elephant; here the entire organization is oriented toward a lengthening of the upper lip. In the case of the giraffe, the entire organization strives toward a longer neck. If you can thus see a one-sided development of a human organic system in each animal, and survey the entire animal kingdom all the way down to the insect (one could go even further, down to the “geological” animals, though Terebratulida are not really geological animals any more) then you will realize that the entire animal kingdom is a “human being,” spread out like an opened fan, and the human physical organization makes up the entire animal kingdom, folded together like a closed fan. This is how one can bring the mutual relationship between the human being and the animal into proper perspective. Putting all this into such few words is making it into an abstraction, of course. You will have to transform it into living substance until you can describe each animal-form in terms of a one-sided development of a specific human organic system. If you can find the necessary strength to give your pupils a lively description of animals in this sense, you will soon see how they respond. For this is what they want to hear.

And so the plants are linked to the Earth as if they were the hair of the Earth. The animal is linked to the human being and seen as a one-sided development of various human organic systems. It is as if human arms or legs—and in other instances, the human nose or trunk, and so on—had grown into separate existences in order to live as animals on Earth. This is how pupils can understand the animal-forms. It will enable the teacher to form lessons that are attuned to what lives in the growing human being, in the children themselves.


A question is asked concerning religious instruction.

RUDOLF STEINER: A misunderstanding has arisen from my preliminary remarks about child development and religious impulses. So far nothing has been said in my lectures about religious instruction itself, because I began to talk only today about the practical application of the Waldorf way of teaching. I told you that there is a kind of physical-religious relationship (I called it bodily-religious) between children and their environment. Furthermore, I said that what young children exercised—simply because of their organism—entered the sphere of thinking only after puberty, after approximately the fourteenth or fifteenth year. What manifests at first in a physical-spiritual way, continues in a hidden existence, and re-emerges in the thinking realm in approximately the fifteenth year; I compared that with an underground stream surfacing again on lower ground. For an adult, religion is closely linked to the thinking sphere. If teaching, however, is to be in line with the child's natural development, what will emerge later must already be carefully prepared for during an earlier stage. And thus the question arises: Bearing these laws of human development in mind, how should the religion lessons be planned for the students between the ages of six and fourteen? This is one of the questions that will be addressed in coming lectures.

In anticipation, however, I would like to say that we must be clear that the religious element is simply inborn in the child, that it is part of the child's being. This is revealed particularly clearly through the child's religious orientation until the change of teeth, as I have already described it. What has eventually become religion in our general civilization—taken in an adult sense—belongs naturally to the world of ideas, or at least depends on ideation for its substance, which, true enough, lives primarily in the adult's feeling realm. Only after the fourteenth year is the adolescent mature enough to appreciate the ideal quality and substance of religion. For the class teacher (grades one through eight) the important question thus arises: How should we arrange our religion lessons? Or, more precisely: What part of the child must we appeal to through religion lessons during the time between the seventh and fourteenth years?

During the first life period, until the change of teeth, we directly affect the child's physical organization through an educational influence. After puberty, fundamentally speaking, we work on the powers of judgment and on the adolescent's mental imagery. During the intervening years we work upon the child's feeling life. This is why we should lead the child into this period with a pictorial approach, because pictures work directly in soul life (Gemüt).4Gemüt is virtually untranslatable. Rudolf Steiner said “this Gemüt lives in the center of soul life.” A dictionary defines it as “heart, soul, or mind.” But these must be considered as one rather than as three separate things. Thus, one can read Gem¼t as “soul,” that is, heart and mind together. The powers of mental imagery mature only gradually, and they have to be prepared well before their proper time. What we now have to do in religion lessons is appeal, above all, to the children's soul life, as I will describe it in regard to other subjects tomorrow. The question is: How do we do it?

We work on the children's soul life by allowing them to experience feelings of sympathy and antipathy. This means that we act properly by developing the kind of sympathies and antipathies between the seventh and fourteenth years that will lead finally to proper judgments in the religious sphere. And so we avoid Thou shalt or Thou shalt not attitudes in our religion lessons, because it has little value for teaching a child of this age. Instead we arrange lessons so that feelings of sympathy are induced for what the child is meant to do. We do not explain our real aims to children. Using the pictorial element as medium, we present children with what fills them with feelings of sympathy in a heightened sense, as well as in a religious sense. Likewise, we try to induce feelings of antipathy toward what they are not meant to do.

In this way, on the strength of feelings of right or wrong, and always through the pictorial element, we try to direct the young students gradually from the divine-spiritual in nature, through the divine-spiritual in the human being, toward having children make the divine-spiritual their own. This has to all reach the child through the life of soul, however, certainly until eighth grade. We must avoid a dogmatic approach and setting up moral commandments. We must do all we can to prepare the child's soul for what should develop later on as the adult faculty of forming sound judgments. In this way we will do far more for the child's future religious orientation than by presenting religious commandments or fixed articles of faith at an age when children are not yet ready for them. By clothing our subject in images, thus preparing the ground for what in later life will emerge as religious judgment, we prepare our students for the possibility of comprehending through their own spirituality what they are meant to grasp as their own innermost being—that is, their religious orientation. Through appealing to the children's soul-life in religion lessons—that is, by presenting our subject pictorially rather than through articles of faith or in the form of moral commandments—we grant them the freedom to find their own religious orientation later in life. It is extremely important for young people, from puberty right into their twenties, to have the opportunity to lift, by their own strength, what they first received through their soul life—given with a certain breadth from many perspectives—into conscious individual judgments. It will enable them to find their own way to the divine world.

It makes all the difference whether children, during the age of authority, are brought up in a particular religious belief, or whether, by witnessing the teacher's underlying religious attitude, they are enabled “to pull themselves up like a plant on its tendrils,” and thus develop their own morality later in life. Having first found pleasure or displeasure in what was finally condensed into an attitude of Thou shalt or Thou shalt not, and having learned to recognize, through a pictorial contemplation of nature, how the human soul becomes free through an inner picture of a divine-spiritual weaving in nature and in history, a new stage is reached where young people's own images and ideas can be formed. In this way the possibility is given of receiving religious education out of the center of life itself. It is something that becomes possible only after puberty has been reached.

The point is that future stages have to be prepared for properly—that is, based on the correct insight into human nature. In my lectures I have used the comparison of the river that disappears underground and resurfaces at a lower level. During the first seven years the children have an inborn religious attitude. This now enters the depths of their souls, becoming part of them, and does not resurface in the form of thinking until the arrival of puberty. During the second life period we must work into the depths of the students' souls through what is revealed to our individual insights. In this way we prepare them to grow into religious adults. We impede this process if we do not offer our students the possibility to find their own religious orientation later on. In every human being there is an individual orientation toward religion, which, after the fifteenth year, has to be gradually won. Our task is to prepare the ground so that this can happen properly. That is why, at this age, we have to treat the religion lessons just as we do the lessons in the other subjects. They must all work on the child's soul through the power of imagery; the child's soul life has to be stimulated. It is possible to introduce a religious element into every subject, even into math lessons. Anyone who has some knowledge of Waldorf teaching will know that this statement is true. A Christian element pervades every subject, even mathematics. This fundamental religious current flows through all of education.

Because of prevailing circumstances, however, we have felt it necessary to come to the following arrangement regarding religious instruction. I would like to point out once more that Waldorf schools are not ideological but pedagogical schools, where the basic demand is that our teaching methods be in harmony with the child's nature. Thus we neither wish nor intend to teach our students to become anthroposophists. We have chosen anthroposophy to be the foundation simply because we believe that a true method of teaching can flow from it. Our Catholic students are taught by visiting Catholic priests, and our Protestant students by visiting Protestant ministers. Waldorf students, whose parents are free-thinkers, and who otherwise would not receive any religious instruction at all, are given religion lessons by our own teachers. The surprising fact has emerged, however, that nearly all of our Waldorf students now attend the religion lessons presented by Waldorf teachers. They have all flocked to the so-called “free” religion lessons, lessons that, in their own way, comprise what permeates all of our teaching.5Free, as used here means “nonsectarian.”

These free religion lessons have certainly caused us a great deal of concern. Our relationship to the school is very unusual regarding these lessons. We consider all the other subjects as necessary and intrinsic to our education from the point of view of the principles and methods resulting from anthroposophical research. But, regarding the free religion lessons, we feel that we are on the same footing as the visiting Catholic or Protestant teachers. In this sense, Waldorf teachers who give religion lessons are also “outsiders.” We do not want to have an ideological or confessional school, not even in an anthroposophical sense. Nevertheless, anthroposophical methods have proven to be very fertile ground for just these free religion lessons, in which we do not teach anthroposophy, but in which we build up and form according to the methods already characterized.

Many objections have been raised against these free religion lessons, not least because so many children have changed over from the denominational to the free religion lessons. This has brought many other difficulties with it, for, despite our shortage of teachers, we had to find among our existing staff one new religion teacher after another. It is hardly our fault if pupils desert their denominational religion lessons because they wish to join the free religion lessons. The obvious reason is that the visiting religion teachers do not apply Waldorf methods, and the right methods are always the decisive factor, in religious instruction as well.

A further question is asked about religious lessons.

RUDOLF STEINER: The characteristic mark of Waldorf education should be that all educational questions and problems are considered only from the pedagogical angle, and religion lessons are no exception. The Reverend Mr. X would certainly acknowledge that the two directions mentioned, namely the possibility of replacing religion lessons by moral instruction on the one hand, and that of denominational schools on the other, have been raised from very different viewpoints. The suggestion of replacing religious instruction with lessons in moral conduct is usually presented by those who want to eliminate religion altogether, and who maintain the opinion that religion has become more or less superfluous. On the other hand, a tendency toward religious dogma can easily cause a longing for denominational schools. Neither of these are pedagogical points of view.

In order to link them a little more precisely to the aspect of teaching method, I would like to ask: What constitutes the pedagogical point of view? Surely it is the assumption that a human being is not yet complete during the stage of childhood or youth—something very obvious. A child has to grow gradually into a full human individual, which will be achieved only during the course of life. This implies that all potential and dormant faculties in the child should be educated—and here we have the pedagogical point of view in its most abstract form.

If someone who represents the purely pedagogical outlook that results from insight into human nature were to now declare that a child comes into the world with an inborn kinship to the religious element, and that during the first seven years the child's corporeality is steeped in religion, only to hear a call for replacing religion lessons by lessons in ethics, it must strike such a person as if those who hold such an idea would be unwilling to exercise a human limb, say a leg, because they had concluded that the human being needs to be trained in every respect except in the use of legs! To call for the exclusion of an essential part of the human being can only stem from a fanatical attitude, but never from a real pedagogy. Insofar as only pedagogical principles are being defended and pedagogical impulses scrutinized here, the necessity of religious teaching certainly follows from the pedagogical point of view. This is why we have established the free religion lessons for those children who, according to the regulations of the school authorities, would otherwise have been deprived of religious instruction, as already stated. Through this arrangement, and because all the children belonging to this category are attending the free religion lessons, there is no student in the Waldorf school who does not have religious instruction. This procedure has made it possible for us to bring back the religious life into the entire school.

To speak of the proper cultivation of the religious life at school, and to counter the effects of the so-called “religion-free enlightenment,” by appealing to the inborn religious disposition in the young, may be the best way forward to a religious renewal. I consider it a certain success for the Waldorf school to have brought religion to the children of religious dissidents. The Catholic and Protestant children would have received religious instruction in any case, but it really was not at all easy to find the appropriate form that would enable us to open this subject to all our children. It was strived for only from the pedagogical point of view.

Vierter Vortrag

In den vorangehenden Betrachtungen habe ich versucht, hineinzuführen in dasjenige, was hier Menschenerkenntnis genannt wird. Einiges von dem, was noch fehlt, wird sich ja im Laufe der Betrachtungen noch ergeben. Und ich habe gesagt, daß diese Menschenerkenntnis eine solche ist, die nicht zur Theorie bloß führt, sondern die Instinkt des Menschen, allerdings durchseelter, durchgeistigter Instinkt des Menschen werden kann, so daß das in der Tat dann hineinführt auch in die lebendige Erziehungs- und Unterrichtspraxis. Man muß natürlich berücksichtigen, daß ja in Vorträgen gewissermaßen nur in einer Art von Gesten auf dasjenige hingedeutet werden kann, was dann diese Menschenerkenntnis für Unterrichts- und Erziehungspraxis wird. Aber es muß deshalb, weil diese Dinge gerade auf die Praxis abzielen, hier viel mehr in einer Art andeutender Weise gesprochen werden, als das heute sonst beliebt ist. Wenigstens ist man sich ja heute nicht bewußt, wie sehr dasjenige, was man in Worten schildern kann, überhaupt nur eine Art Andeutung bleibt, eine Art von Hinweis auf das, was dann im Leben viel vielseitiger ist, als man es in Worten andeuten kann.

Wenn wir beachten, wie das Kind im wesentlichen ein nachahmendes Wesen ist, wie das Kind gewissermaßen ein seelisches Sinnesorgan ist, das an seine Umgebung in einer leiblich-religiösen Weise hingegeben ist, so wird man für diesen Lebensabschnitt, also bis zum Zahnwechsel hin, im wesentlichen darauf zu sehen haben, daß alles in der Umgebung des Kindes wirklich so wirkt, daß das Kind es sinngemäß aufnehmen und in sich verarbeiten kann. Es wird daher vor allen Dingen auch darauf gesehen werden müssen, daß das Kind mit dem, was es sinngemäß aus seiner Umgebung sich aneignet, immer das Moralische seelisch-geistig sich mit aneignet; so daß wir bei dem Kinde, das an das Lebensalter des Zahnwechsels herantritt, eigentlich schon in bezug auf die wichtigsten Impulse des Lebens alles wie vorbereitet haben. Wenn man also das Kind ungefähr in der Zeit des Zahnwechsels in die Schule hereinbringt, dann hat man nicht etwa ein leeres, sondern ein vielbeschriebenes Blatt vor sich. Und wir werden ja gerade bei dieser mehr pädagogisch-didaktischen Betrachtung, die wir jetzt werden anzustellen haben, darauf zu sehen haben, wie nicht etwas Ursprüngliches in das Kind hereingebracht werden kann in der Zeit zwischen dem Zahnwechsel und der Geschlechtsreife, sondern wie man überall die Impulse, die in den ersten sieben Lebensjahren in das Kind hereingebracht worden sind, wird erkennen müssen und wie man ihnen diejenige Richtung wird geben müssen, welche das spätere Leben dann von dem Menschen verlangt. Deshalb wird es so stark darauf ankommen, daß gerade der Lehrende und Erziehende in einer feinsinnigen Weise hinzuschauen vermag auf alle Lebensregungen der Kinder. Denn in diesen Lebensregungen steckt schon sehr viel, wenn er die Kinder in die Schule bekommt. Und er muß dann diese Lebensregungen leiten und lenken; er muß sich nicht einfach vorsetzen: das ist richtig, das ist falsch, das sollst du tun, jenes sollst du tun; sondern er ist darauf angewiesen, die Kinder zu erkennen und ihre Lebensregungen weiterzuführen.

Natürlich entsteht jetzt jene Frage, die wir in der Waldorfschule nicht praktisch in der Weise haben erproben können wie das, was für das kindliche Alter vom Zahnwechsel bis zur Geschlechtsreife zu tun ist. Die erste Zeit bis zum Zahnwechsel hin, von der Geburt ab, ist ja gewiß die allerwichtigste Erziehungsarbeit; allein da wir schon die allergrößte Schwierigkeit haben, Einrichtungen zu schaffen, welche für die Kinder taugen, nachdem sie das schulpflichtige Alter erreicht haben, können wir jetzt an einen Kindergarten noch nicht einmal denken - da wir jedes Jahr an die unteren Klassen eine neue Klasse für die älteren Kinder anzubauen haben; wir haben mit einem AchtklassenSchulunterricht in der Waldorfschule begonnen -, wir können nicht einmal daran denken, so etwas wie einen Kindergarten oder dergleichen als Vorbereitungsstufe für die Volksschule zu errichten. Diejenigen Menschen, die über solche Dinge oberflächlich denken, sind ja allerdings der Meinung, man brauche einen solchen Kindergarten nur zu errichten, dann könne es losgehen. So ist die Sache aber nicht. Was dazu notwendig ist, das ist eine außerordentlich ausführliche Gestaltung bis in alle Einzelheiten nun auch der Pädagogik und Didaktik für den Kindergarten. Und dem sich zu widmen ist gar nicht möglich, solange jedes Jahr eine neue Klasse an die Waldorfschule anzustükkeln ist.

Der Ernst, der heute mit sogenannten Reformbewegungen verknüpft ist, der wird nur leider von den allerwenigsten Menschen in der richtigen Weise aufgefaßt. Denn die Reformbewegungen der Laien bestehen ja hauptsächlich darin, daß sie Forderungen aufstellen, Forderungen, die man ja sehr leicht aufstellen kann; es gibt nichts Leichteres heute, wo ja alle Menschen gescheit sind - ich meine das durchaus nicht ironisch, sondern im Ernst -, als Forderungen aufzustellen. Ja, eine tadellose Schulreform als Programm aufzustellen, dazu ist heute nur nötig, daß sich innerhalb unserer Zivilisation, die ja von Gescheitheit nur so strotzt, elf, zwölf Menschen finden, auch drei oder vier würden schon gescheit genug sein, die dann die Forderungen aufstellen, was zu geschehen hat: erstens, zweitens, drittens und so weiter. Da wird etwas außerordentlich Gescheites herauskommen, ich zweifle nicht daran. Die abstrakten Programme, die überall aufgestellt werden, sind außerordentlich gescheit. Man kann nämlich heute, weil die Menschen so intellektualistisch sind, sehr Gutes auf diese Weise - abstrakt äußerlich Gutes meine ich - in außerordentlicher Art zustande bringen. Aber für den, der die Dinge vom Leben aus beurteilt und nicht vom Standpunkte des intellektualistischen Denkens, nimmt sich das alles so aus, als wenn irgendwie Menschen nachdenken darüber, was ein ordentlicher Ofen in einem Zimmer zu leisten hat. Da werden sie natürlich eine ganze Reihe von kategorischen Imperativen anführen können, die der Ofen zu leisten hat: er muf das Zimmer warm machen, er darf nicht rauchig sein und so weiter. Die Paragraphen 1, 2 und 3 können sehr schön sein, aber wenn man nun das alles weiß: der Ofen soll warm sein, der Ofen soll nicht rauchen und so weiter, so kann man doch noch nicht das Einheizen eines Ofens handhaben; da muß man andere Dinge dazu lernen. Und je nach Lage des Zimmers und nach Lage vielleicht noch anderer Dinge wird es sich gar nicht möglich machen, in tadelloser Weise alle diese Forderungen zu erfüllen, die sehr gescheit aufgestellt werden können. Und so sind zumeist die Programme, die heute von den Reformbewegungen ausgehen; ungefähr so abstrakt sind sie wie das, was ich über den Ofen gesagt habe. Deshalb sind sie durchaus nicht zu bekämpfen, sie enthalten zweifellos viel Richtiges, aber, etwas anderes als ideal richtige Schulforderungen ist die Praxis einer wirklichen Schule. Da hat man es nicht zu tun mit etwas, was sein soll, sondern da hat man es zu tun mit einer bestimmten Anzahl von Kindern; da hat man es zu tun mit einer bestimmten Anzahl von - gestatten Sie mir, daß ich auch das erwähne, denn es kommt in Betracht -, mit einer bestimmten Anzahl von so und so begabten Lehrern. Mit alledem muß gerechnet werden. Im Abstrakten kann ein Reformprogramm aufgestellt werden; im Konkreten hat man nur eine Anzahl von bestimmt begabten Lehrern, für die sich vielleicht gar nicht die Möglichkeit ergibt, diese abstrakten Forderungen unbedingt zu erfüllen.

Diesen durchgreifenden Unterschied zwischen dem Leben und zwischen dem Intellektualismus, den begreift unsere Gegenwart aus einem ganz bestimmten Grunde nicht. Sie begreift ihn deshalb nicht, weil unsere Gegenwart tatsächlich sich daran gewöhnt hat, das Intellektualistische gar nicht mehr zu spüren und es am wenigsten dort zu spüren, wo es sich am allerintensivsten geltend macht. Derjenige, der wirklich heute weiß, wie groß der Unterschied zwischen Theorie und Praxis ist, der findet die schauderhaftesten, unpraktischsten Theorien im heutigen Geschäftsleben. Die heutige Struktur des Geschäftslebens ist in Wirklichkeit so theoretisch wie möglich eingerichtet. Nur greifen die Leute, die im Geschäftsleben drinnenstehen, mit robusten Händen zu; sie machen sich die Ellenbogen frei und setzen nur ihre theoretischen Dinge mit Brutalität oftmals durch. Da geht es dann eben so lange, bis das Geschäft zugrunde geht. Da kann man intellektualistisch sein. Aber da, wo das Leben anfängt, wirkliches Leben zu sein, wo einem etwas entgegengebracht wird wie in der Schule, dem gegenüber man nicht einfach zugreifen kann, sondern bei dem man gegebene Impulse hat, die weiterentwickelt werden müssen, da helfen einem die allerschönsten Theorien nichts, wenn nicht aus wirklich individuellster Menschenerkenntnis heraus praktisch geschaffen werden kann. Daher sind solche Köpfe, die so angefüllt sind mit allem möglichen theoretischen pädagogischen Wissen, wirklich am allerwenigsten für den praktischen Schulunterricht tauglich. Vieltauglicher sind da eigentlich noch die Instinktmenschen, die aus sich heraus, aus einer natürlichen Liebe heraus die Kinder erkennen können. Aber heute sind eben die Instinkte nicht mehr so sicher, daß man, ohne eine Leitung dieser Instinkte aus dem Geiste heraus gelten zu lassen, mit diesen Instinkten sehr weit kommt. Das Menschenleben ist heute kompliziert geworden, und das Instinktleben verlangt ein einfaches Menschenleben, ein Menschenleben, das fast hinunterreicht zur Einfachheit des tierischen Lebens. Das muß alles berücksichtigt werden, dann erst wird man in der richtigen Weise auf das hinsehen können, was hier als wirklich praktisch gemeinte Pädagogik und Didaktik angeschlagen wird.

Es ist ja in dieser Beziehung das Erziehungswesen mitgegangen mit dem allmählichen Hereintreten des Materialismus in unsere moderne Zivilisation. Das zeigt sich ja insbesondere dadurch, daß man gerade für das Alter bis zum Zahnwechsel hin, das eigentlich das allerwichtigste im Menschenleben ist, vielfach mechanische Methoden statt organischer Methoden eingeführt hat. Aber man muß sich klarmachen: das Kind ist bis zum Zahnwechsel darauf angelegt nachzuahmen. Dasjenige, was der spätere Ernst des Lebens fordert und der spätere Ernst des Lebens in Arbeit hineinverwebt, das wird beim Kinde, wie ich schon gestern erwähnte, als Spiel betätigt, aber als Spiel, das zunächst dem Kinde voller Ernst ist. Und der Unterschied zwischen dem Spiel des Kindes und der Arbeit des Lebens besteht lediglich darin, daß bei der Arbeit des Lebens zunächst das Einfügen in die äußere Zweckmäßigkeit der Welt in Betracht kommt, daß wir da hingegeben sein müssen an die äußere Zweckmäßigkeit der Welt. Und das Kind will dasjenige, was es in Betätigung umsetzt, aus seiner eigenen Natur heraus entwickeln, aus seinem Menschenleben heraus entwickeln. Das Spiel wirkt von innen nach außen; die Arbeit wirkt von außen nach innen. Darin besteht ja gerade die ungeheuer bedeutungsvolle Aufgabe der Volksschule, daß das Spiel allmählich in Arbeit übergeführt wird. Und kann man praktisch die große Frage beantworten: Wie wird das Spielen in Arbeiten umgewandelt?, dann beantwortet man eigentlich die Grundfrage der Volksschulerziehung.

Aber das Kind spielt im Nachahmen und will spielen im Nachahmen. Weil man sich nicht hineingefunden hat durch eine wirkliche, wahre Menschenerkenntnis in das kindliche Lebensalter, hat man aus den intellektualistischen Überlegungen der Erwachsenen heraus allerlei Spielartiges für die Kinder im Kindergarten ersonnen, das aber von den Erwachsenen eigentlich ausgedacht ist. Während die Kinder nachahmen wollen die Arbeit der Erwachsenen, erfindet man vielfach durch Stäbchenlegen, oder wie dergleichen Dinge heißen, besondere Dinge für die Kinder, die sie dann vollführen sollen und wodurch sie ganz abgebracht werden von demjenigen, was lebendig aus ihnen herausfließt und was die Arbeit der Erwachsenen eben nur nachahmen will. Sie werden daraus herausgeführt und werden durch allerlei mechanisch Ausgedachtes in Tätigkeitsfelder hineingebracht, die nicht für das kindliche Lebensalter sind. Besonders das 19. Jahrhundert war sehr erfindungsreich im Ausdenken von allen möglichen Kinderarbeiten für den Kindergarten, die man eigentlich nicht ausführen lassen sollte. Denn im Kindergarten kann es eigentlich nur darauf ankommen, daß das Kind sich anpaßt den paar Leuten, die den Kindergarten leiten, daß diese paar Leute naturgemäß sich benehmen und daß das Kind die Anregungen empfängt, das nachzuahmen, was diese paar Leute tun - daß man nicht extra von dem einen zum anderen Kinde geht und ihm vormacht: das oder jenes soll es tun. Denn das will es noch nicht befolgen, wovon man ihm sagt: Das sollst du tun. Es will nachahmen, was der Erwachsene tut. So ist es eben die Aufgabe für den Kindergarten, dasjenige, was die Arbeiten des Lebens sind, in solche Formen hineinzubringen, daß sie aus der Betätigung des Kindes ins Spiel fließen können. Man hat das Leben, die Arbeiten des Lebens hineinzuleiten in die Arbeiten des Kindergartens. Man hat nicht auszudenken Dinge, die eigentlich im Leben nur ausnahmsweise mal vorkommen und die eigentlich richtig nur angeeignet werden, wenn man sie dann im späteren Leben zu dem, was man in normaler Weise sich angeeignet hat, hinzulernen muß. So zum Beispiel kann man sehen, wie die Kinder dazu angehalten werden, in Papierblätter Schnitte hineinzumachen, dann allerlei rotes und blaues und gelbes Zeug da hindurchzustecken, so daß da drinnen aus buntem Papier Gewobenes entsteht. Was man damit erreicht, ist, daß man das Kind durch eine mechanisierende Tätigkeit abhält davon, in die normale Lebenstätigkeit hineinzukommen. Denn was man da mit den Fingern unmittelbar machen soll, das macht die normale Tätigkeit, indem man irgendeine Näh- oder Stickarbeit in primitiver Weise ausführen läßt. Die Dinge, die vom Kinde ausgeführt werden, müssen unmittelbar aus dem Leben genommen werden; sie dürfen nicht ersonnen werden von der intellektualistischen Kultur der Erwachsenen. Worauf es beim Kindergarten gerade ankommt, das ist, daß das Kind nachahmen muß das Leben.

Diese Arbeit, das Leben so zu gestalten, daß man vor dem Kinde dasjenige in richtiger Weise ausführt, was im Leben den Zwecken angepaßt ist, was beim Kinde angepaßt ist dem Hervorgehen aus dem Betätigtseinwollen des eigenen Organismus, das ist eine große Arbeit, eine ungeheuer bedeutungsvolle pädagogische Arbeit. Die Arbeit, Stäbchenlegen auszudenken oder solche Papierflechtarbeiten zu machen, die ist leicht zu machen. Aber die Arbeit, unser kompliziertes Leben nun wirklich so zu gestalten, wie das Kind es schon selber macht, indem der Knabe mit irgendwelchen Spaten oder dergleichen spielt und das Mädchen mit der Puppe spielt - richtig die menschliche Betätigung ins kindliche Spiel umsetzen und dies auch für die komplizierteren Betätigungen des Lebens zu finden: das ist es, was geleistet werden muß, und das ist eine lange Arbeit, für die heute noch fast gar keine Vorarbeiten da sind. Denn man muß sich klar sein darüber, daß in diesem Nachahmen, in dieser sinngemäßen Betätigung des Kindes, das Moralische und Geistige mit drinnensteckt und die künstlerische Anschauung mit drinnensteckt, aber ganz subjektiv, ganz im Kinde. Geben Sie dem Kinde ein Taschentuch oder einen Lappen, und knüpfen Sie diesen so, daß) er oben einen Kopf hat, unten ein Paar Beine, dann haben Sie ihm einen Bajazzo oder eine Puppe gemacht. Sie können dann noch mit Tintenklecksen Augen und Nase und Mund daranmachen oder besser das Kind selber machen lassen, und Sie werden sehen: ein gesundes Kind hat mit dieser Puppe seine große Freude. Denn dann kann es das, was sonst an der Puppe dran sein soll, ergänzen durch bildhaft nachahmende Seelentätigkeit. Es ist viel besser, wenn Sie aus einem Leinwandfetzen einem Kind eine Puppe machen, als wenn Sie ihm eine schöne Puppe geben, die womöglich noch mit der unmöglichsten Farbe die Backen angestrichen hat, die schön angezogen ist, die sogar, wenn man sie niederlegt, die Augen zumachen kann und dergleichen. Was tun Sie denn, wenn Sie dem Kind eine solche Puppe geben? Sie verhindern es, seine Seelentätigkeit zu entfalten; denn es muß seine Seelentätigkeit, diese wunderbar zarte, erwachende Phantasie, überall absperren, um ganz Bestimmtes, Schön-Geformtes ins Auge zu fassen. Sie trennen das Kind ganz von dem Leben, weil Sie seine Eigentätigkeit zurückhalten. Das ist dasjenige, was insbesondere für das Kind bis zum Zahnwechsel in Betracht kommt.

Und wenn das Kind dann in die Schule hineinkommt, dann tritt einem eben das entgegen, daß das Kind am meisten Opposition hat gegen Lesen und Schreiben, wie ich es gestern gesagt habe. Denn nicht wahr, da ist ein Mann: er hat schwarze oder blonde Haare, er hat eine Stirne, Nase, Augen, hat Beine; er geht, greift, sagt etwas, er hat diese oder jene Gedankenkreise - das ist der Vater. Nun soll das Kind aber das Zeichen da - VATER - für den Vater halten. Es ist gar keine Veranlassung, daß das Kind das für den Vater hält. Nicht die geringste Veranlassung ist dazu da. Das Kind bringt Bildekräfte mit, die aus seinem Organismus herauswollen, mit denen es sich gebracht hat innerlich bis zur wunderbaren Formung des Gehirnes und dessen, was im Nervensystem sonst sich daranschließt; mit denen es sich gebracht hat bis zu jener wunderbaren Ausbildung der zweiten Zähne. Der Mensch sollte bescheiden werden und sollte sich fragen, was er da alles verstehen müßte, wenn er nur auf Grundlage der ersten Zähne die zweiten Zähne aus seiner Kunst heraus bilden sollte; was da für unbewußte Weisheit in alledem waltet! An diese unbewußte Weisheit in den Bildekräften war das Kind hingegeben. Das Kind lebt in Raum und Zeit - nun soll man das Kind zu Bedeutungen führen, wie sie im Lesen und Schreiben zutage treten. Man muß nicht das Kind einfach hinführen zu dem, was die vorgerückte Kultur in dieser Beziehung ausgebildet hat, man muß das Kind hinführen zu dem, was es selber aus seiner Wesenheit heraus will. Man muß es so an das Lesen und Schreiben heranführen, daß seine Bildekräfte, die bis zum 7. Jahr in ihm selbst gearbeitet haben, die sich jetzt freimachen und äußerliche seelische Betätigung werden, daß diese Bildekräfte eben sich betätigen.

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Wenn Sie einem Kinde zunächst nicht Buchstaben oder selbst Worte hinschreiben, sondern ihm aus den auch in seiner Seele existierenden Bildekräften heraus dasjenige hinzeichnen, was hier so aussieht, dann werden Sie sehen, daß das Kind sich noch erinnert an etwas, was wirklich da ist, was es mit seinen Bildekräften schon erfaßt hat. Das Kind wird Ihnen sagen: Das ist ein Mund! Und jetzt können Sie das Kind nach und nach dazu führen, daß Sie ihm sagen: Nun sprich einmal Mmmund; laß das letzte weg. Sie führen das Kind dazu, nach und nach zu sagen mmm ... Und jetzt sagen Sie ihm: Nun wollen wir einmal dasjenige aufmalen, was du da gemacht hast. Wir haben was weggelassen:

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haben wir gemalt. Und nun machen wir es einfacher:

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Es ist ein M draus geworden.

Oder wir zeichnen dem Kinde so etwas auf (es wird gezeichnet): Das Kind wird sagen: Fisch ... Man wird dazu übergehen, F zu sagen. Machen wir das nun einfacher, diesen Fisch! Dann wird ein F daraus. Wir kriegen die abstrakten sogenannten Buchstaben überall aus den Bildern heraus.

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Da ist es nicht nötig, daß wir nun immer historisch zurückgehen, wie aus der Bilderschrift wirklich in solcher Weise unsere heutige Schrift entstanden ist. Das ist gar nicht nötig, wir brauchen nicht kulturhistorische Pädagogik zu treiben. Wir brauchen nur selber uns hineinzufinden, etwas durch die Phantasie beflügelt, dann werden wir in allen Sprachen die Möglichkeit finden, von charakteristischen Worten auszugehen, die wir ins Bild verwandeln können und aus denen heraus wir dann erst die Buchstaben gewinnen. So wenden wir uns an dasjenige, was das Kind will gerade im Zahnwechselalter und unmittelbar darnach. Und schon daraus ergibt sich für Sie, daß man zuerst aus dem zeichnenden Malen und dem malenden Zeichnen - denn für das Kind ist es gut, wenn es gleich Farben verwendet, es lebt ja in der Farbe, das weiß jeder, der das Kind kennt -, wenn man aus dem malenden Zeichnen zum Schreiben übergeht und erst aus dem Schreiben das Lesen gewinnt. Denn das Schreiben ist eine Betätigung des ganzen Menschen. Da muß die Hand in Betracht kommen, da muß sich der ganze Leib in irgendeiner Weise, wenn auch fein, einfügen, da ist der ganze Mensch daran beteiligt. Das hat noch etwas Konkretes, das Schreiben, das aus dem malenden Zeichnen herausgeholt wird. Das Lesen, nun, da sitzt man schon dabei, da ist man schon ein richtiger Duckmäuser, da strengt sich nur noch ein Teil des Menschen an, der Kopf. Das Lesen ist schon abstrakt geworden. Das muß nach und nach als eine Teilerscheinung aus dem Ganzen heraus entwickelt werden.

Bei diesen Dingen ist es heute außerordentlich schwer, im rein Naturgemäßen standzuhalten gegen die Vorurteile der Gegenwart. Denn wenn man anfängt, in einer solch ganz naturgemäßen Weise die Kinder zu unterrichten, dann lernen sie etwas später lesen, als man es heute verlangt. Wenn dann die Kinder von einer solchen Schule übertreten in eine andere Schule, dann können sie noch nicht soviel wie die Kinder der anderen Schule. Ja, aber es kommt doch gar nicht darauf an, was man sich aus dem materialistischen Kulturzeitalter für eine Vorstellung darüber gebildet hat, was das Kind mit acht Jahren können soll. Sondern es kommt darauf an, daß es vielleicht gar nicht gut ist für das Kind, wenn es zu früh lesen lernt. Denn da sperrt man auch wiederum für das spätere Leben etwas zu, wenn das Kind zu früh lesen lernt. Lernt das Kind zu früh lesen, dann führt man es zu früh in die Abstraktheit hinein. Und Sie würden unzählige spätere Sklerotiker beglücken für ihr Leben, wenn Sie ihnen nicht zu früh das Lesen beibrächten als Kinder. Denn diese Verhärtung des ganzen Organismus - ich nenne es populär so -, die in der mannigfaltigsten Form der Sklerose später auftritt, die kann man zurückverfolgen zu einer falschen Art, das Lesen beizubringen. Natürlich kommen diese Dinge auch noch von vielen anderen Sachen, aber darum handelt es sich, daß es diese Dinge durchaus gibt, daß ein naturgemäßer Unterricht vom Seelisch-Geistigen aus überall hygienisch auf den Leib wirkt. Erfassen Sie, wie Sie den Unterricht und die Erziehung gestalten sollen, so erfassen Sie zu gleicher Zeit, wie Sie dem Kinde die beste Gesundheit fürs Leben geben. Und Sie können ganz sicher sein: würden gesündere Methoden im heutigen Schulwesen herrschen, dann würde gar mancher vom männlichen Geschlecht nicht so früh mit einem Glatzkopf herumgehen, wie das sehr häufig der Fall ist!

Diese Dinge, die eben darauf beruhen, daß man das Seelisch-Geistige überall fortwirken sieht im Leiblich-Physischen, werden eben gerade vom materialistischen Standpunkte aus viel zu wenig berücksichtigt. Und ich möchte es immer wieder betonen: Die Tragik des Materialismus besteht darin, daß er von den materiellen Vorgängen gar nichts mehr weiß, sondern sie nur ganz von außen betrachtet; daß} er gar nicht mehr weiß, wie ein Moralisches übergeht in ein Physisches. Man gewöhnt sich ja heute schon durch die Art und Weise, wie der Mensch behandelt - man könnte fast sagen mißhandelt - wird von der Wissenschaft, eine ganz falsche Vorstellung an. Denken Sie sich doch nur einmal: Wenn Sie heute Physiologie- oder Anatomiebücher aufschlagen, dann haben Sie gewisse Zeichnungen: das Knochensystem wird aufgezeichnet, das Nervensystem wird aufgezeichnet, das Blutzirkulationssystem wird aufgezeichnet. Ganz suggestiv wirkt das; man bekommt die Vorstellung, als ob der Mensch wirklich wiedergegeben wäre, wenn man das alles so aufzeichnet. Hier ist ja gar nicht das wiedergegeben, was der Mensch physisch-leiblich ist. Das ist ja höchstens 10 Prozent davon, denn 90 Prozent vom Menschen ist ja eine Flüssigkeitssäule. Er besteht ja zu 90 Prozent aus Flüssigkeit, die in ihm fortwährend fluktuiert, die man gar nicht so mit festen Konturen zeichnen kann. Nun, Sie werden sagen: die Physiologen wissen das! Gewiß, aber es bleibt in der Physiologie, es geht nicht über in die Lebenspraxis, weil schon die Zeichnungen suggestiv nach einer anderen Seite leiten. Aber wessen man sich noch weniger bewußt wird, das ist, daß wir ja nicht bloß - zum kleinsten Teil - ein fester Mensch sind, zum größten Teil ein Flüssigkeitsmensch sind, sondern daß wir auch in jedem Momente ein Luftmensch sind. Die Luft draußen ist im nächsten Moment in uns drinnen, die Luft in uns ist im nächsten Moment draußen. Ich bin ein Teil der ganzen Luftumgebung. Das ist fortwährend fluktuierend in mir. Und erst die Wärmezustände! In Wirklichkeit müssen wir den Menschen unterscheiden in den festen Menschen, den Flüssigkeitsmenschen, den Luftmenschen, den Wärmemenschen - das kann noch weitergehen, aber darauf wollen wir uns zunächst beschränken.

Daß man über diese Dinge ganz unsinnige, falsche Ansichten hat, das zeigt sich an dem Folgenden. Wenn das wirklich so wäre, wie es aufgezeichnet wird als Knochensystem, Nervensystem und so weiter, wo einfach alles in eine solche Zeichnung verwandelt wird, daß man immerfort versucht ist, den Menschen als bloßen festen Organismus vorzustellen - wenn das alles so wäre, wäre es kein Wunder, daß das moralische, das seelische Leben in diese festen Knochen, in diese starre Blutzirkulation nicht hineingehen kann: es hat gar nichts damit zu tun. Fangen Sie aber an, den Menschen wirklich jetzt auch als Flüssigkeitsmenschen, als Luftmenschen, zuletzt als Wärmemenschen vorzustellen, dann haben Sie ein feines Agens, eine feine Entität - zum Beispiel in den Wärmezuständen -, und dann werden Sie darauf kommen, wie in den physischen Wärmeverlauf allerdings die moralische Konstitution des Menschen hinein verlaufen kann. Wenn Sie die Wirklichkeit vorstellen, dann kommen Sie zu jener Einheit des Physischen und Moralischen. Und die muß man dann vor sich haben, wenn man den Menschen in seiner Entwickelung behandeln will die muß man durchaus vor sich haben.

Also es kommt tatsächlich darauf an, daß wir auf den Menschen hinzuschauen vermögen, daß wir aus einem ganz anderen physiologisch-psychologischen Untergrund heraus den Weg zu dem Menschen finden, und dann ergibt sich, wie man diesen Menschen zu behandeln hat. Sonst entwickelt er die innere Opposition gegen dasjenige, was er eigentlich lernen soll, während angestrebt werden muß, daf3 er selbst hineinwächst in dasjenige, was er lernen soll. Und indem er hineinwächst, beginnt er selbstverständlich auch das, was er lernen soll, liebzuhaben. Er kann es aber nur dadurch liebgewinnen, daß er aus seinen eigenen Wesenskräften in die Sache hineinwächst.

Am meisten schaden - und zwar gerade diesem Lebensalter gegenüber so vom 7., 8., 9. Jahr -, am meisten schaden die einseitigen Illusionen, diese fixen Ideen, die man sich macht: das oder jenes soll so oder so geschehen. Man ist zum Beispiel so ungeheuer stolz darauf, daß so im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts, aber schon im 18. Jahrhundert vorbereitet, die alte Buchstabiermethode übergegangen ist in die Lautiermethode und dann in die Normalwörtermethode beim Lesenlernen. Und weil sich die Leute heute schämen, das Alte irgendwie noch zu respektieren, so wird man ja heute kaum noch einen Menschen finden, der schwärmen würde für die alte Buchstabiermethode. Er wäre ein dummer Kerl nach Ansicht der Gegenwart, das gibt es ja nicht - also darf er nicht mehr schwärmen für die alte Buchstabiermethode. Die Lautiermethode, aber auch die Normalwörtermethode werden angewendet. Man ist sehr stolz auf die Lautiermethode, wo dem Kinde der Lautcharakter beigebracht wird. Das Kind lernt nicht: das ist ein P oder das ist ein N oder das ist ein R, sondern es lernt alles auszusprechen, so wie es im Worte drinnen lautet. Nun ja, das ist ganz gut. Die Normalwörtermethode ist auch gut, wo man manchmal von ganzen Sätzen ausgeht, wo man dem Kinde den Satz bildet, dann erst analysierend zu dem Worte und dem einzelnen Laut geht. Aber schlimm ist es, wenn diese Dinge schrullenhaft werden. Die Gründe für alle drei Methoden, sogar für die alte Buchstabiermethode, die Gründe sind alle gut, sind alle geistreich - es läßt sich nicht leugnen, daß die Dinge alle geistreich sind. Aber woher kommt es, daß sie geistreich sind? Das kommt von dem Folgenden. Denken Sie, Sie haben einen Menschen nach der Photographie gekannt und immer en face gesehen. Da haben Sie halt so irgendeine Vorstellung von dem Menschen. Jetzt kriegen Sie einmal ein Bild in die Hand, und es sagt einer: Das ist das Bild von dem Menschen. - Das Bild ist nun ein Profilbild. Sie werden sagen: Aber nein, das ist doch ein ganz falsches Bild! Der Mensch schaut ja ganz anders aus: hier das Bild en face, das ist das richtige Bild, das andere ist ganz falsch. - Es ist das Bild desselben Menschen in diesem Falle, aber es ist von der anderen Seite aufgenommen. Und so ist es im Leben immer - die Dinge im Leben müssen überall von den verschiedensten Seiten betrachtet werden. Man kann sich ja zwar in irgendeinen einseitigen Standpunkt verlieben, weil er sehr geistreich sein kann, man kann seine guten Gründe haben, man kann die Buchstabiermethode, die Lautiermethode, die Normalwörtermethode verteidigen, und der Gegner wird einen nicht widerlegen können, weil man ja nur an seine eigenen Gründe selbstverständlich glaubt. Das ist gut möglich, daß die besten Gründe vorgebracht werden, aber: es sind Einseitigkeiten. In der Lebenspraxis müssen die Dinge eben immer von den verschiedensten Seiten angegriffen werden.

Wenn man schon einmal aus dem malenden Zeichnen, dem zeichnenden Malen heraus die Formen gewonnen hat und wenn man dann übergegangen ist dazu, daß man allerdings jetzt ganz gut tut, eine Art Lautier- oder Wörtermethode zu pflegen, damit man das Kind nicht so sehr sich an die Einzelheiten verlieren läßt, sondern es hinlenkt zum Ganzen, so ist doch wiederum dem materialistischen Zeitalter eines abhanden gekommen, und das ist das Folgende: der Laut als solcher, das einzelne M, das einzelne P, das ist eben auch etwas. Und es kommt darauf an, daß, wenn der Laut im Wort drinnen ist, er schon den Weg nach der Außenwelt genommen hat, da ist er schon übergegangen in die materiell-physische Welt. Das, was wir in der Seele haben, sind nämlich die Laute als solche, und das hängt sehr stark ab von der Art und Weise, wie unsere Seele beschaffen ist. Indem wir buchstabieren, sprechen wir, wenn wir das M ausdrücken wollen, eigentlich EM. Der Grieche tat das nicht, der Grieche sprach MY. Das heißt: er setzte den Hilfsvokal nach dem Konsonanten, wir setzen ihn vorher. Wir bekommen den Laut heute in Mitteleuropa, indem wir vom Vokalischen zum Konsonantischen den Weg nehmen. Denselben Laut bekam man in Griechenland, indem man den umgekehrten Weg ging. Das weist hin auf die Seelenverfassung, die da zugrunde liegt.

Das ist außerordentlich wichtig und bedeutsam. Denn derjenige, der nun nicht bloß auf das Äußerliche der Sprache schaut, wie nun die Sprache schon einmal geworden ist als Bedeutungssprache - unsere Sprachen sind ja fast alle Bedeutungssprachen, wir haben in den Worten kaum mehr etwas anderes als Zeichen für das, was draußen ist -, derjenige, der von da zurückgeht auf das Seelische, das in den Worten lebt, das überhaupt in der Sprache lebt, der kommt schon zurück zu dem sogenannten Laut. Denn alles Konsonantische hat einen ganz anderen Charakter als alles Vokalische. - Sie wissen: In bezug auf die Entstehung der Sprache gibt es ja die mannigfaltigsten Theorien. Es ist da wiederum so wie bei der Photographie. Unter anderem hat man ja zum Beispiel die «Wau-Wau»-Theorie. Sie besteht ja darin, daß man meint: dasjenige, was der Mensch sprachlich bildet, das ahmt er dem nach, was als Laut heraustönt aus Wesenheiten. Er ahmt nach dieses Wesenhafte. Er hört den Hund: Wau-Wau. Wenn er selbst glaubt, ein Ähnliches in seiner Seelenverfassung auszudrükken, so gebraucht er auch einen ähnlichen Laut. Es ist nichts dagegen einzuwenden. Es sind sehr viele Gründe für diese Wau-Wau-Theorie anzuführen, sehr geistreiche Gründe. Wenn man nur auf ihrem Boden stehenbleibt, sind sie nicht zu widerlegen. Aber das Leben besteht nicht in Begründung und Widerlegung, sondern das Leben besteht in lebendiger Bewegung, in Transformation, in lebendiger Metamorphose. Was an einer Stelle richtig ist, ist von einer anderen Stelle aus falsch, und umgekehrt. Das Leben muß in seiner ganzen Beweglichkeit erfaßt werden. - Sie wissen: es gibt eine andere Theorie, die der Wau-Wau-Theorie gegenübersteht und sie bekämpft. Da leitet man das Entstehen der Sprache davon her, daß so, wie wenn eine Glocke angeschlagen wird, das Metall eine bestimmte innere Konstitution hat und dieser oder jener Laut dann herauskommt, so sich der Mensch den Dingen gegenüber verhält. Es ist mehr ein Sichhereinfühlen in die Dinge, nicht ein äußeres Nachahmen, bei dieser Bim-Bam-Theorie. Sie ist wiederum durchaus richtig für gewisse Dinge. Man kann sagen, diese Theorie hat viel für sich, die Wau-Wau-Theorie auch. Aber die wirkliche Sprache entsteht nämlich weder auf dem BimBam-Weg noch auf dem Wau-Wau-Weg, sondern auf beide Arten und noch auf manche andere Art. Es sind Einseitigkeiten. Manches in unserer Sprache ist wirklich so gebildet, daß das Bim-Bam erfühlt ist, manches ist so, daß es Wau-Wau oder Muh-Muh nachgebildet ist. Es ist durchaus so: es sind beide Theorien richtig und manche andere auch noch. Es kommt aber darauf an, daß man das Leben erfaßt. Erfaßt man das Leben, dann wird man finden, daß die WauWau-Theorie mehr paßt für die Vokale, die Bim-Bam Theorie für die Konsonanten; aber wieder nicht ganz, es sind wieder nur Einseitigkeiten. Doch zuletzt kommt man darauf, zu erkennen - wie ich es schon in der kleinen Schrift «Die geistige Führung des Menschen und der Menschheit» angedeutet habe -, daß die Konsonanten in der Tat nachgebildet sind den äußeren Geschehnissen und den äußeren Formen der Dinge: sie bilden das F dem Fisch nach, das M dem Mund nach, oder das L dem Laufen nach und so weiter. Die Konsonanten sind schon so entstanden, daß sie in einem gewissen Sinne zu der BimBam-Theorie stimmen - aber nur feiner ausgestaltet müßte sie werden. Die Vokale aber sind Ausdrucksweisen, Offenbarungen für das Innere des Menschen. Da ahmt er nicht in der Form, die er dem Laut oder dem Buchstaben gibt, das Äußere nach, da ahmt er überhaupt zunächst nicht nach, sondern da drückt er seine Gefühle von Sympathie und Antipathie aus. Sein Gefühl von Freude oder Neugierde mit 7; von Staunen oder Verwunderung: A, ich bin erstaunt; Z, ich will etwas weg haben, was mich stört; U, ich fürchte mich; Ei, ich habe dich lieb. Alles dasjenige, was in den Vokalen liegt, das ist unmittelbare Offenbarung der seelischen Sympathien und Antipathien. Es entsteht zwar nicht durch Nachahmung, aber so: Der Mensch will sich äußern, will seine Sympathien und Antipathien äußern. Nun hört er an dem Hunde, wenn der Hund etwas Schreckhaftes erfassen will, Wau-Wau: da paßt er sich an, wenn sein Erlebnis ähnlich ist dem Wau-Wau des Hundes, und dergleichen. Es ist aber der Weg des Vokalisierens ein solcher von innen nach außen; es ist der Weg des Konsonantierens von außen nach innen, von dem Nachbilden. Schon im Laute bildet man nach. Sie werden das nachweisen können, wenn Sie auf Einzelheiten eingehen.

Sie werden aber dann sehen, weil das nur für die Laute gilt, nicht für Worte - es hängt nicht an der Seele -, daß es schon ein Fortführen des Wortes ist zum ursprünglichen Seelenzustand, wenn man dann auch in der Analyse so weit kommt, daß man dem Kinde Buchstaben beibringt. So daß man sagen kann: Man muß nur richtig erfassen dasjenige, was das Kind in einem bestimmten Lebensalter selber fordert, man wird dann im Grunde genommen lauter Buchstaben durcheinander anwenden, so wie ein ordentlicher Photograph - der einem ja meistens gerade dadurch lästig werden kann - auch den Betreffenden sich drehen läßt und ihn von allen Seiten photographiert; dann hat er ihn erst. So ist es auch notwendig, daß derjenige, der herankommen will an den Menschen, diesen Menschen eben von allen Seiten erfaßt. Mit der Normalwörtermethode erfaßt man nur das Körperlich-Leibliche. Mit der Lautiermethode kommt man schon dem Seelischen nahe, und - horribile dictu - ja, es ist schrecklich zu sagen: Mit der Buchstabiermethode kommt man ganz ins Seelische hinein. Das Letzte ist selbstverständlich heute noch Idiotismus, aber seelischer ist es zweifellos; nur ist es nicht unmittelbar anzuwenden. Man muß es mit einer gewissen pädagogischen Geschicklichkeit und Praxis, mit künstlerischer Pädagogik an das Kind heranbringen, so daß das Kind nicht dressiert wird, den Buchstaben konventionell auszusprechen, sondern daß es das Entstehen des Buchstabens erlebt, was ja in seinen Bildekräften liegt, was es da wirklich hat. Darauf kommt es an. Und dann werden wir sehen, daß es noch reichlich genügt, wenn wir auf diese Weise etwa bis nach dem 9. Jahr das Kind dazu bringen, daß es lesen kann. Es schadet nämlich gar nichts, wenn das Kind nicht früher lesen kann, denn es hat auf naturgemäße Weise das Lesen gelernt, wenn es in der eben geschilderten Art gelernt hat und etwa ein paar Monate über neun Jahre alt ist. Bei verschiedenen Kindern kann es etwas früher oder später sein.

Da beginnt nämlich für das Kind dann ein kleinerer Lebensabschnitt. Die großen Lebensabschnitte sind die mehrmals genannten: von der Geburt bis zum Zahnwechsel, vom Zahnwechsel bis zur Geschlechtsreife, dann bis in die Zwanzigerjahre hinein. Aber da darf man dem heutigen Menschen ja überhaupt schon nicht mehr von Entwickelung reden! Heute geht es ja nicht, nicht wahr, daß man dann dem Menschen noch sagt: Du machst auch noch eine Entwickelung durch bis zu einem besonderen Reifezustand nach dem 21. Jahr. Das verletzt den heutigen Menschen, da - entwickelt er sich nicht mehr, da schreibt er Feuilletons. Man muß also heute schon etwas zurückhaltender sein, wenn man von den späteren Lebensaltern spricht. Aber es ist notwendig, daß man die großen Lebensabschnitte erfaßt als Erzieher und Unterrichter und dann auch die kleinen Abschnitte, die wiederum in den großen drinnenliegen. Da ist ein kleiner Abschnitt zwischen dem 9. und 10. Jahr, mehr gegen das 9. Jahr zu gelegen: da kommt das Kind dazu, sich immer mehr und mehr von seiner Umgebung zu unterscheiden. Da wird es eigentlich erst gewahr, daß es ein Ich ist. Vorher muß man daher dasjenige in der Erziehung und im Unterricht an das Kind heranbringen, wodurch es mit der Umgebung möglichst zusammenwächst; das Kind kann sich bis zu diesem Lebensalter gar nicht als Ich von der Umgebung unterscheiden. In dieser Beziehung herrschen ja allerdings die kuriosesten Ansichten. So zum Beispiel - denken Sie daran, daß Sie oftmals die Bemerkung hören können -: Wenn das Kind sich an eine Ecke stößt, fängt es an, die Ecke zu schlagen. Da kommt der intellektualistische Mensch und erklärt das so: schlagen tut man doch bloß, wenn man mit Bewußtsein wahrgenommen hat, was einen wiederum mit Bewußtsein gestoßen hat. Das ist die Definition des Kasus zum Schlagen - ja, bei solchen Definitionen möchte man immer wieder erinnern an das griechische Beispiel von der Definition: Was ist ein Mensch? Ein Mensch ist ein lebendiges Wesen, das zwei Beine und keine Federn hat. Das ist eine ganz richtige Definition. Sie führt ins alte Griechenland zurück. Ich will jetzt gar nicht darauf eingehen, daß unsere Physikdefinitionen heute nicht viel besser sind; man lehrt da auch oft die Kinder, daß ein Mensch ein Wesen ist, das auf zwei Beinen geht und keine Federn hat. Ein Bube, der etwas aufgeweckter war, dachte weiter nach über die Geschichte. Er fing sich einen Hahn, rupfte dem die Federn aus und brachte ihn in die Schule mit. Er zeigte den gerupften Hahn vor und sagte: Das ist ein Mensch! Das ist ein Wesen, das auf zwei Beinen geht und keine Federn hat. - Nun ja, Definitionen sind ja sehr nützlich, aber auch fast immer sehr einseitig. Es kommt aber darauf an, daß man sich unmittelbar ins Leben hineinfindet. Ich muß das immer wiederholen. Es handelt sich darum, daß man vor allen Dingen erfaßt, wie das Kind bis nach dem 9. Jahr sich gar nicht von seiner Umgebung richtig unterscheidet. Man kann also eigentlich nicht sagen: Das Kind stellt sich den Tisch als lebendig vor, wenn es ihn schlägt. Das fällt ihm gar nicht ein. Es schlägt aus dem Innern seines Wesens heraus. - Diesen Animismus gibt es gar nicht, dieses Beseelen von Unorganischem, das sich schon in die Kulturgeschichte eingeschlichen hat. Man ist ganz erstaunt, welche Phantasie die Gelehrten oft haben, wenn sie zum Beispiel glauben, daß der Mensch die Dinge beseele. Ganze Mythologien werden so erklärt. Es ist so, wie wenn diese Menschen, die so etwas sagen, noch keine primitiven Menschen kennengelernt hätten. Es fällt zum Beispiel keinem Bauern ein, der ja auch noch primitiv ist, die Naturerscheinungen zu beseelen. Es handelt sich darum, daß das Kind die Begriffe «Durchseelen, Beleben der Dinge» nicht hat. So wie es lebt, lebt eben alles, es träumt aber nicht das Kind dies bewußt hinein. Daher müssen Sie auch keinen Unterschied machen in Ihrem Beschreiben und Reden, wenn Sie die Umgebung beschreiben: Sie müssen die Pflanzen leben lassen, Sie müssen alles leben lassen; denn das Kind unterscheidet sich noch nicht als Ich von der Umgebung. Daher können Sie auch noch nicht in diesem kindlichen Lebensalter bis nach dem 9. Jahr mit irgend etwas an das Kind herankommen, was zum Beispiel eine schon intellektualistische Beschreibung ist. Sie müssen in voller Frische alles ins Bild verwandeln. Wo das Bild aufhört und die Beschreibung beginnt, da erreicht man gar nichts im 8., 9. Lebensjahr. Erst nachher ist dies möglich. Und dann handelt es sich wieder darum, daß man in der richtigen Weise sich hineinfindet in diese einzelnen Lebensabschnitte. Nur für bildhafte Darstellungen hat das Kind bis zum 9. Jahr hin überhaupt Verständnis; das andere geht so vorüber vor dem Auffassungsvermögen des Kindes wie vor dem Auge der Ton. Mit dem Zeitpunkte aber, der zwischen dem 9, und 10. Jahr liegt, können Sie dann anfangen, sagen wir, Pflanzen zu beschreiben. Da können Sie anfangen mit primitiven Beschreibungen des Pflanzenwesens; denn da unterscheidet sich das Kind allmählich von der Umgebung. Aber Sie können ihm noch nichts Mineralisches beschreiben; denn so stark ist sein Unterscheidungsvermögen noch nicht, daß es die große Differenz zwischen dem, was es innerlich erlebt, und dem Mineral schon auffassen könnte. Es hat jetzt erst die Möglichkeit, den Unterschied zwischen sich und der Pflanze aufzufassen. Dann können Sie allmählich übergehen zur Tierbeschreibung.

Aber das muß eben so gemacht werden, daß das Ganze richtig drinnensteht im Leben. Wir haben heute die Botanik. Die sind wir geneigt, auch schon in die Schule hineinzutragen. Wir tun das aus einem gewissen Schlendrian heraus. Eigentlich ist es etwas Schreckliches, wenn wir das von der Botanik, was wir mit Recht haben als Erwachsener, in die Schule hineintragen. Denn was ist denn diese Botanik, die wir da haben? Sie ist eine systematische Anordnung von den Pflanzen, die man nach gewissen Gesichtspunkten findet. Da werden erst die Pilze, die Algen, die Hahnenfüße und so weiter beschrieben, so richtig nebeneinander. Ja, wenn man aber eine solche Wissenschaft ausbildet, die ja als Wissenschaft ganz gut ist, nun, dann ist das ungefähr so, wie wenn Sie einem Menschen die Haare ausreißen und nun eine Systematik ausbilden derjenigen Haarformen, die da hinter den Ohren wachsen, die da oben wachsen, an den Beinen wachsen, wie wenn Sie das alles systematisch anordneten. Sie werden eine hübsche Systematik herauskriegen, aber Sie verstehen nicht das Haarwesen dadurch. Man unterläßt daher, weil das einem zu nahe liegt, daß man das Haarwesen im Zusammenhang mit dem ganzen Menschen betrachten muß. Das Pflanzenwesen ist für sich auch nicht vorhanden, das Pflanzenwesen gehört zur Erde. Sie glauben, Sie könnten einen Goldregen, wenn Sie ihn betrachten, so wie er in der Botanik klassifiziert ist, verstehen! Ich habe nichts dagegen, daß er in der Botanik klassifiziert wird; Sie können aber nur dann, wenn Sie ihn auf den sonnigen Abhängen sehen und wenn Sie die Erdschichtung betrachten, die darunter ist, verstehen, warum er gelb ist: daß das aus der Farbe der darunterliegenden Erde ist! Da wird Ihnen die Pflanze wie das Haar, das aus dem Menschen heraussprießt. Die zunächst dem Kinde bekannte Erde mit den darauf befindlichen Pflanzen wird so ein Ganzes. Sie dürfen nicht an das Kind herangehen direkt mit dem, was aus der heutigen Botanik stammt, und dies hineintragen in die Schule. Auch da muß man aus dem Leben heraus die Pflanze und die Erde so beschreiben, wie man das Haar beschreibt, das aus dem Menschen herauswächst. Und so können Sie auch gar nicht die Pflanze beschreiben, ohne über den Sonnenschein, über das Klima, über die Erdenkonfiguration zu sprechen, wie es dem Kinde angemessen ist.

Das Nebeneinanderbeschreiben der einzelnen Pflanzen, wie Sie es auch im Botanisieren haben, so daß man sagt: Man muß auch dem Kinde Anschauungsunterricht bieten - das ist dem Kinde nicht angemessen. Es handelt sich auch beim Anschauungsunterricht darum, was man es anschauen läßt. Das Kind hat ein instinktives Gefühl aus dem, was es in sich trägt für das Lebendige, das wahrhaft Wirkliche. Wenn Sie ihm mit dem Toten kommen, verletzen Sie dieses Lebendige, diesen Sinn für das wahrhaft Wirkliche im Kinde. Aber die Menschen haben heute wenig Sinn für die Differenzierungen des Seienden. Denken Sie nur einen Philosophen von heute, der über den Begriff des Seins nachdenkt. Dem wird es einerlei sein, ob er eine Bergkristallform oder eine Blüte als Beispiel eines Seienden nimmt. Denn beides ist da, man kann es herlegen, das sind existierende Dinge. Aber das ist ja gar nicht wahr! Die Dinge sind ja schon in bezug auf das Sein nicht gleichartig. Den Bergkristall können Sie in drei Jahren wieder nehmen: er ist durch seinen eigenen Bestand. Die Blüte ist ja gar nicht so, wie sie ist. Fine Blüte für sich ist ja eine Naturlüge; sie kann nur ein Sein haben auf der ganzen Pflanze. Sie müssen die ganze Pflanze beschreiben, wenn Sie die Berechtigung haben wollen, der Blüte ein Sein beizumessen. Die Blüte für sich genommen ist ein reales Abstraktum; der Bergkristall nicht. Aber man hat heute ganz das Gefühl verloren für solche Differenzierungen der Wirklichkeit. Das Kind hat dies noch instinktiv. Wenn Sie an das Kind etwas heranbringen, was nicht ein Ganzes ist, dann ist es unheimlich berührt im Innern. Das geht dem Menschen dann noch nach bis ins spätere Leben hinein. Sonst hätte der Tagore nicht beschrieben, welch unheimlichen Eindruck ihm das abgeschnittene Bein gemacht hat in seiner Kindheit. Das ist ja keine Wirklichkeit, ein Menschenbein, das hat ja nichts mehr zu tun mit der Wirklichkeit. Denn das Bein ist nur so lange ein Bein, als es am ganzen Organismus ist; wird es abgeschnitten, so hört es auf, ein Bein zu sein.

Aber solche Dinge müssen einem gründlichst in Fleisch und Blut übergehen, damit wir alle Wirklichkeit so erfassen, daß wir überall ausgehen von der Totalität und nicht von dem Einzelnen. Das Einzelne könnten wir ja ganz falsch behandeln. So müssen wir bei der Botanik für das kindliche Alter von der ganzen Erde ausgehen und die Pflanzen gewissermaßen als die Haare betrachten, die da auf der Erde wachsen.

Und die Tiere - ja, zu den Tieren gewinnt das Kindüberhaupt kein Verhältnis, wenn Sie ihm das Nebeneinander entwickeln. Sie können da dem Kinde schon etwas mehr zumuten, weil das Behandeln des Tierischen ja erst eintritt im 10., 11. Lebensjahr. Dem Kinde die Tiere so nebeneinander beizubringen - gewiß, wissenschaftlich ist das ganz gut, aber wirklichkeitsgemäß ist es nicht. Wirklichkeitsgemäß ist nämlich, daß das ganze Tierreich ein ausgebreiteter Mensch ist. Nehmen Sie den Löwen: er ist die einseitige Ausbildung besonders der Brustorganisation. Nehmen Sie den Elefanten: die ganze Organisation ist auf die Verlängerung der Oberlippe hin ausgebildet; die Giraffe: die ganze Organisation ist auf die Verlängerung des Halses hin ausgebildet. Wenn Sie jedes Tier so begreifen, daß irgendein Organsystem des Menschen vereinseitigt ist im Tier, und dann die ganze Tierreihe überblicken bis zum Insekt, und noch weiter hinunter kann das durchgeführt werden bis zu den geologischen Tieren - Terebrateln sind im Grunde genommen keine geologischen Tiere -, dann kommen Sie dazu, sich zu sagen: Das ganze Tierreich ist ein fächerförmig auseinandergefalteter Mensch, und der Mensch ist seiner physischen Organisation nach die Zusammenfaltung des ganzen Tierreiches. Da bringen Sie in die richtige Entfernung vom Menschen - und auch wiederum richtig mit dem Menschen zusammen - dasjenige, was das Tierreich ist. Natürlich sage ich hier mit ein paar Worten etwas Abstraktes. Das müssen Sie sich umsetzen in Lebendiges, so daß Sie wirklich jede Tierform schildern können als eine einseitige Ausbildung eines menschlichen Organsystemes. Wenn Sie die nötige Kraft finden, vor den Kindern das lebendig zu schildern, so werden Sie sehen, wie die Kinder das rasch auffassen. Denn das wollen sie haben. Die Pflanzen werden angeknüpft an die Erde, wie wenn sie das Haar der Erde wären. Das Tier wird angeknüpft an den Menschen so, wie wenn der Mensch sich vereinseitigen würde, wie wenn er bald Arme, bald Beine, bald Nase und dergleichen, bald Oberleib wäre und dies dann Gestalt gewinnen würde: dann bekommt man die Gestalt der Tiere, des ganzen Tierreiches. So gelangt man wirklich dazu, den Unterricht so zu gestalten, daß er verwandt ist demjenigen, was in dem werdenden Menschen, dem Kinde selber lebt.

Fragenbeantwortungen

Zu einer Frage über den Religionsunterricht.

Es ist ein Mißverständnis dadurch entstanden, daß ja vorläufig geschildert worden ist, wie sich das Kind hinsichtlich seiner religiösen Impulse entwickelt. Es ist noch gar nicht in meinen Vorträgen vom Religionsunterricht gesprochen worden, weil ich ja heute überhaupt erst begonnen habe mit dem Pädagogisch-Didaktischen. Dasjenige, was von mir ausgeführt wurde, das ist, daß eine Art physisch-religiösen, ich sagte leiblich-religiösen Verhältnisses besteht zwischen dem Kinde und seiner Umgebung. So daß also dasjenige, was das Kind bis zum Zahnwechsel hin einfach durch seine Organisation übt, erst nach der Geschlechtsreife, etwa nach dem 14., 15. Jahr, ins Denken übergeht. Ich habe den Vergleich gebraucht, daß dasjenige, was zunächst auf eine leiblich-geistige Weise sich offenbart, gewissermaßen in einer Unterströmung fortfließt und dann für das Denken, durch welches die Religion beim Erwachsenen auftritt, erst im 15. Jahre ungefähr auftritt. Nun ist die Sache aber so, daß ja gerade bei einer naturgemäßen Pädagogik dasjenige, was in irgendeinem Lebensalter auftritt, sorgfältig vorbereitet werden muß in den früheren Lebensepochen. Und die didaktisch-pädagogische Frage, die nun daraus hervorgeht, ist diese: Wie ist mit Rücksicht auf diese Entwickelungsgesetze des Menschen der Religionsunterricht gerade in der Volksschule einzurichten? Das ist eine Frage, die den nächsten Vorträgen als Aufgabe mit unterliegen wird. Dasjenige, was ich schon voraus sagen möchte, ist nun dieses: Wir müssen uns klar sein, daß wirklich das religiöse Element dem Menschen angeboren ist, zur Menschennatur gehört. Das drückt sich dadurch ganz besonders aus, daß man eben diese religiöse Orientierung des Kindes, wie ich sie beschrieben habe, bis zum Zahnwechsel findet. Dasjenige, was wir nun durch die allgemeine Zivilisation als die Religion der Erwachsenen haben, ist natürlich eine solche, die in Vorstellungen lebt oder wenigstens ihren Inhalt durch Vorstellungen bekommt, die allerdings vor allen Dingen im Gemüt sich ausleben. Für diesen Vorstellungsinhalt wird der Mensch erst reif nach dem 14. Lebensjahr. Es bleibt uns gerade das volksschulmäßige Lebensalter für die wichtige Frage: Wie haben wir da nun den Religionsunterricht einzurichten? Da kommt in erster Linie in Frage: Worauf müssen wir in diesem Lebensalter vom 7. bis zum 14. Jahr vorzugsweise wirken? In der ersten Lebensepoche bis zum Zahnwechsel wirken wir als erzieherische Umgebung eigentlich auf das Leibliche. Nach der Geschlechtsreife wirken wir im Grunde genommen auf das Urteil, auf die Vorstellung. In der Zwischenperiode wirken wir nun gerade auf das Gemüt, das Gefühl. Daher ist auch notwendig, diese Periode einzuleiten damit, daß wir bei den Kindern, die in die Volksschule hineinkommen, mit Bildern anfangen. Die wirken nämlich gerade auf die Empfindung, auf das Gemüt. Die Vorstellung reift allmählich erst heran und wird vorbereitet für das richtige Lebensalter. Nun haben wir ebenso, wie ich es morgen für einzelne Lehrfächer ausführen werde, beim Religionsunterricht dafür zu sorgen, daß wir ihn vor allen Dingen ans Gemüt heranbringen. Und darum handelt es sich also: Was wirkt im Gemüt und auf das Gemüt? Ja, da wirkt vor allen Dingen dasjenige, was erlebt wird in Sympathien und Antipathien. Wenn wir nun bei dem Kinde gerade zwischen dem 7. und 14. Jahr solche Sympathien und Antipathien entwickeln, die da vorbereiten ein richtiges religiöses Urteil, dann tun wir das Rechte. Also sagen wir: Wir richten den Unterricht nicht so ein, daß wir überall Gebote obenan stellen «Du sollst dieses tun, Du sollst jenes nicht tun»; das taugt eben wiederum nicht, gerade für dieses kindliche Alter, sondern wir müssen den Unterricht so einrichten, daß das Kind Sympathie bekommt mit dem, was es tun soll. Das behalten wir für uns im Hintergrund, was es tun soll, aber wir stellen in Bildern dasjenige dar, was ihm auch in religiöser Beziehung in höherem und sehr gehobenem Sinne sympathisch einfließen soll. Wir versuchen, ihm Antipathie einzuflößen für dasjenige, was es eben nicht soll. Wir versuchen auf diese Weise auch gerade eben durch das Gemütsurteil immer an Hand des Bildes das Kind allmählich hinzuführen von dem Göttlich-Geistigen in der Natur durch das GöttlichGeistige im Menschen zu dem Aneignen des Göttlich-Geistigen. Aber das Ganze muß durch Gemüt und Gefühl gehen, gerade im volksschulmäßigen Alter. Also nicht dogmatisch und nicht gebotsmäßig, sondern durchaus das Gemüt, das Gefühl vorbereiten für dasjenige, was dann später in selbstgebildetem Urteil auftreten kann. Und wir werden ganz andere Erfolge erzielen gerade für die religiöse Orientierung des Menschen, als wenn wir in dem Lebensalter, in dem das Kind nicht empfänglich dafür ist, mit Geboten oder Glaubensartikeln kommen. Wenn wir ihm die Bilder vorweisen und dadurch vorbereiten dasjenige, worüber sich später der junge Mensch selber ein religiöses Urteil bilden soll, bereiten wir dem Menschen die Möglichkeit, dasjenige wirklich durch seine eigene Geistigkeit zu erfassen, was er als sein innerstes Wesen erfassen soll, nämlich die religiöse Orientierung. Wir lassen gewissermaßen dem Kinde die Freiheit, sich selber religiös zu orientieren, wenn wir ihm das Religiöse ans Gemüt heranbringen, also in Bildern das Religiöse darbieten, nicht in Glaubensartikeln oder in Geboten. Es ist von ungeheurer Bedeutung, wenn der Mensch dann nach der Geschlechtsreife bis in die Zwanzigerjahre hinein die Möglichkeit hat, das, was er erst im Gemüt, im Gefühl, ich möchte sagen mit einer gewissen Weite und Vielseitigkeit aufgenommen hat, aus sich selbst heraus zum Urteil erhebt. Er bringt sich dann selbst auf den Weg zum Göttlichen. Es ist ein großer Unterschied, ob das Kind in der Zeit, in der es auf Autorität eingestellt ist, durch die Autorität eine fest bestimmte Richtung bekommt oder ob es so geführt wird, daß es die religiöse Orientierung bei seinem Erzieher oder Lehrer sieht, daran bildhaftig sich hinaufrankt und dann später schöpfen kann daraus das «Du sollst», «Du sollst nicht». Nachdem es zuerst Gefallen oder Mißfallen gefunden hat an dem, was herauskommt als «Du sollst», «Du sollst nicht», nachdem es in bildhafter Naturanschauung erkennen gelernt hat, wie das Gemüt frei wird durch die Vorstellung eines göttlich-geistigen Webens in Natur und Geschichte, kommt es selber darauf, sich die Vorstellungen zu bilden. Es bekommt die Möglichkeit, die religiöse Erziehung aus dem Zentrum des Lebens zu bekommen, zu dem man erst mit der Geschlechtsreife herankommt. Also darum handelt es sich, aus diesen Untergründen, die aus Menschenerkenntnisgewonnen werden, das Spätere in richtiger Weise vorzubereiten. Ich habe es dargestellt in den Vorträgen, indem ich einen Vergleich gebraucht habe mit einem Fluß, der versinkt und weiter unten wieder hervorkommt. Der Mensch ist in den ersten 7 Jahren religiös eingestellt. Das tritt nun in die Tiefen des Gemütes hinein, wird ganz seelisch, kommt an die Außenfläche erst wiederum als Denken mit der Geschlechtsreife. Und nun müssen wir in die Tiefen seiner Seele hineinwirken durch eine uns persönliche Gemütsoffenbarung. Wir bereiten dadurch für das Kind vor, was es zum religiösen Menschen macht, während wir das verhindern, wenn wir ihm nicht die Möglichkeit bieten, aus dem eigenen Zentrum seines Wesens heraus die religiöse Orientierung zu gewinnen. Diese eigene religiöse Orientierung liegt im Menschenwesen. Sie muß nach dem 15. Jahr gewonnen werden. Wir müssen sie vorbereiten in richtiger Weise. Darum muß auch der Religionsunterricht gestaltet werden wie der andere Unterricht in diesem Lebensalter; er muß bildhaft aufs Gemüt wirken, muß dem Kinde Gefühlsanregungen geben. Bis in die Mathematik hinein kann man in jedes Unterrichtsfach einen religiösen Zug bringen. Und daß das der Fall ist, das werden diejenigen spüren, die einmal den Waldorfschulunterricht kennen. Da ist wirklich eigentlich in allen einzelnen Fächern Christentum darinnen, bis in die Mathematik hinein ist Christentum darinnen. Es liegt überall der religiöse Zug zugrunde. Nur eben sind wir ja wegen der heutigen Verhältnisse in die Notwendigkeit versetzt, den eigentlichen Religionsunterricht, weil wir keine Weltanschauungsschule sind, sondern eine pädagogische Schule, und weil wir eigentlich nur den Wert darauf legen, daß bei uns nach naturgemäßer Methodik gelehrt wird - wir haben Anthroposophie eben deshalb zugrunde gelegt, weil wir glauben, daß daraus eine wirklich richtige Pädagogik herausquillt, aber wir wollen nicht Anthroposophen dressieren in der Waldorfschule; deshalb ist es so, daß wir den katholischen Religionsunterricht von katholischen Pfarrern, den evangelischen Religionsunterricht von evangelischen Pfarrern erteilen lassen. Diejenigen, die nun von unseren Lehrern selber unterrichtet werden, das sind eigentlich die Kinder, die zumeist heute Dissidentenkinder wären, also keinen Religionsunterricht bekommen würden. Es ist eine überraschende Tatsache, daß das die weitaus größte Majorität der Waldorfschulkinder ist. Die kommen nun alle zu dem sogenannten freien Religionsunterricht, der im Grunde genommen nur dasjenige dann zusammenfaßt, was den ganzen Unterricht doch eigentlich beherrscht. Dieser freie Religionsunterricht, der macht uns eigentlich recht viel Sorge. Wir stehen in bezug auf diesen Unterricht in einem ganz besonderen Verhältnis zur Schule. Wir betrachten alle übrigen Fächer als dasjenige, was durch anthroposophische Forschung als notwendige pädagogisch-didaktische Methodik da sein muß. Den freien religiösen Unterricht erteilen wir selbst, indem wir uns ebenso fühlen in der Schule drinnen stehend wie der katholische und evangelische Religionslehrer. Den erteilen wir als Fremde drinnen. Wir wollen nicht eine Weltanschauungs- oder Konfessionsschule haben, auch nicht in anthroposophischem Sinne, aber schließlich wird natürlich gerade die anthroposophische Methodik recht fruchtbar in diesem freien Religionsunterricht, in dem nicht etwa Anthroposophie gelehrt wird, sondern in dem so gearbeitet wird, wie ich es jetzt methodisch charakterisiert habe. Man wendet allerlei ein gegen diesen freien Religionsunterricht, zum Beispiel, daß so furchtbar viele Kinder von dem anderen Religionsunterricht hinüberlaufen zu dem freien. Das macht sehr viele Schwierigkeiten, weil wir einen Religionslehrer nach dem anderen anstellen mußten und nicht mehr genügend Leute haben dafür. Wir können nichts dafür, daß die Kinder hinüberlaufen, von dem anderen Religionsunterricht fortlaufen. Das liegt nur darinnen, daß die anderen eben nicht die Methodik haben, die in unserem Religionsunterricht drinnen ist. Uns kommt es auch beim Religionsunterricht auf die richtige Pädagogik an.

Auf eine weitere Frage.

Das Charakteristische der Waldorfschule soll sein, alle Fragen vom Gesichtspunkte der Pädagogik aus zu betrachten, also auch den Religionsunterricht. Nun wird aber gerade Herr Pfarrer X. zugeben, daß die beiden angeführten Richtungen: die Frage der Ersetzung des Religionsunterrichts durch moralischen Unterricht und die konfessionelle Schule, daß die von ganz anderen Gesichtspunkten aus aufgeworfen werden. Vor allen Dingen die Ersetzung des Religionsunterrichtes durch den Moralunterricht wird von denjenigen Menschen aufgeworfen, welche überhaupt in der Zivilisation die Religion beseitigen wollen, welche die Religion als etwas mehr überflüssig Gewordenes halten. Die wollen natürlich keine Religion, sondern Moralunterricht. Auf der anderen Seite geht natürlich aus dem Hinneigen zu den dogmatischen Konfessionen die Sehnsucht hervor, die Schule konfessionell zu gestalten. Das sind aber keine pädagogischen Gesichtspunkte. Aber damit man auch etwas Präzises verbindet mit dem, was da Pädagogik genannt werden muß, möchte ich sagen: Was ist denn eigentlich der pädagogische Gesichtspunkt? Der pädagogische Gesichtspunkt kann nur der sein, vorauszusetzen, daß der Mensch, wie es ja selbstverständlich ist, zunächst in seinem kindlichen oder jugendlichen Lebensalter nicht ein ganzer Mensch ist, sondern erst einer werden muß; daß man erst Mensch wird im Verlauf des Lebens. Man muß also alle menschlichen Anlagen zur Ausbildung bringen. Das ist zuletzt die abstrakteste Form des pädagogischen Gesichtspunktes. Wenn nun jemand vom pädagogischen Standpunkte aus spricht und sagt, aus der Menschenerkenntnis, die zugrunde liegt der Pädagogik, daß das Kind überhaupt schon religiös eingestellt zur Welt kommt, daß es in den ersten 7 Lebensjahren sogar seine Leiblichkeit religiös eingestellt hat, dann muß es einem vorkommen, daß, wenn man den Religionsunterricht ersetzen will durch Moralunterricht, wie wenn man ein physisches Glied des Menschen, ein Bein, nicht ausbilden wollte, weil man zu der Ansicht übergehen würde: der Mensch braucht alles, aber nicht die Beine auszubilden. Das weglassen zu wollen, was zum Menschen gehört, das kann entspringen einem Fanatismus, aber niemals einer Pädagogik. Insofern hier überall pädagogische Grundsätze verfochten werden, pädagogische Impulse ins Auge gefaßt werden, folgt die Notwendigkeit des Religionsunterrichtes durchaus vom pädagogischen Gesichtspunkte. Daher haben wir, wie ich schon sagte, für diejenigen Kinder, die sonst konfessionslos wären, also keinen Religionsunterricht hätten nach dem Württembergischen Schulgesetz, den freien Religionsunterricht eingerichtet. Dadurch haben wir gar keine Kinder in der Waldorfschule ohne Religionsunterricht; denn in den freien Religionsunterricht kommen diese alle. Wir haben dadurch die Möglichkeit, gerade wiederum das religiöse Leben in die Schule zurückzuführen. Das wird vielleicht die beste religiöse Erneuerung sein, wenn man davon spricht, das religiöse Leben in der Schule richtig zu pflegen, wenn man es dahin bringt, dasjenige, was heute als religionslose Aufklärung wirkt, dadurch zu bekämpfen, daß man einfach appelliert an die ursprüngliche religiöse Anlage des Menschen. Ich betrachte das als eine Art von Erfolg in der Waldorfschule, daß wir die Dissidentenkinder auf diese Weise zum Religionsunterricht gebracht haben. Die katholischen und evangelischen Kinder wären ja zu ihrem Religionsunterricht gekommen, aber es war wirklich nicht so leicht, diejenige Form zu finden, die nun allen andern Kindern wiederum Religionsunterricht zuwendet. Das ist vom pädagogischen Standpunkte aus angestrebt worden bei uns.

Fourth Lecture

In the preceding considerations, I have attempted to introduce what is referred to here as knowledge of human nature. Some of what is still missing will emerge in the course of the reflections. And I have said that this knowledge of human nature is such that it does not merely lead to theory, but can become human instinct, albeit a more soulful, more spiritual human instinct, so that it then actually leads to living educational and teaching practice. Of course, one must take into account that in lectures, one can only point to what this knowledge of human nature will then become in teaching and educational practice in a kind of gesture. But because these things are aimed precisely at practice, they must be spoken of here in a much more suggestive way than is otherwise popular today. At least today we are not aware of how much what can be described in words remains only a kind of hint, a kind of reference to what is then much more multifaceted in life than can be hinted at in words.

If we consider how the child is essentially an imitative being, how the child is, in a sense, a spiritual sense organ that is devoted to its environment in a physical-religious way, then for this stage of life, i.e., up to the change of teeth, we must essentially ensure that everything in the child's environment really has such an effect that the child can take it in sensually and process it within itself. Above all, it will therefore be necessary to ensure that the child, in acquiring what it can grasp from its environment, always acquires the moral, soul-spiritual aspect as well; so that when the child approaches the age of tooth replacement, we have actually already prepared everything in relation to the most important impulses of life. So when a child enters school at around the time of tooth replacement, we are not faced with a blank slate, but with a sheet that has already been written on many times. And it is precisely in this more pedagogical and didactic consideration that we are now going to undertake we will have to look not at how something original can be brought into the child in the period between the change of teeth and sexual maturity, but how we will have to recognize everywhere the impulses that have been brought into the child in the first seven years of life and how we will have to give them the direction that later life will then demand of the human being. That is why it will be so important for teachers and educators in particular to be able to observe all the child's life impulses in a subtle way. For there is already a great deal in these life impulses when the child enters school. And they must then guide and direct these impulses; they must not simply say: this is right, this is wrong, you should do this, you should do that; instead, they must get to know the children and continue their impulses.

Of course, this raises the question of what needs to be done for children from the age of tooth replacement to sexual maturity, something we have not been able to test in practice in Waldorf schools. The first period up to the change of teeth, from birth onwards, is certainly the most important educational work; but since we already have the greatest difficulty in creating facilities that are suitable for children after they have reached school age, we cannot even think of a kindergarten at present – since every year we have to add a new class for the older children to the lower classes; We started with eight grades of schooling at the Waldorf School – we cannot even think of establishing something like a kindergarten or similar as a preparatory stage for elementary school. Those who think superficially about such things are of the opinion that all you need to do is establish such a kindergarten and then you can get started. But that's not how it works. What is necessary is an extremely detailed design of all the details of the pedagogy and didactics for the kindergarten. And it is not possible to devote oneself to this as long as a new class has to be added to the Waldorf school every year.

Unfortunately, very few people understand the seriousness associated with so-called reform movements today. For the reform movements of lay people consist mainly in making demands, demands that are very easy to make; there is nothing easier today, when all people are intelligent – I mean that quite seriously, not ironically – than to make demands. Yes, to draw up an impeccable school reform program, all that is needed today is for eleven or twelve people within our civilization, which is brimming with intelligence, to come together—even three or four would be smart enough—and then make demands about what needs to be done: first, second, third, and so on. Something extraordinarily clever will come out of it, I have no doubt. The abstract programs that are being set up everywhere are extraordinarily clever. Today, because people are so intellectual, it is possible to achieve very good things in this way—I mean abstractly good things—in an extraordinary way. But for those who judge things from the perspective of life and not from the standpoint of intellectual thinking, it all looks as if people are somehow thinking about what a proper stove should do in a room. Of course, they will be able to list a whole series of categorical imperatives that the stove must fulfill: it must heat the room, it must not smoke, and so on. Paragraphs 1, 2, and 3 may be very nice, but even if you know all this—that the stove should be warm, that the stove should not smoke, and so on—you still cannot manage to heat a stove; you have to learn other things as well. And depending on the location of the room and perhaps other factors, it may not be possible to fulfill all of these requirements, which can be set out very intelligently, in an impeccable manner. And so most of the programs that come from reform movements today are about as abstract as what I said about the stove. That is why they should not be opposed; they undoubtedly contain a lot of truth, but the practice of a real school is something other than ideal school requirements. One is not dealing with something that should be, but with a certain number of children; one is dealing with a certain number of—allow me to mention this as well, because it is relevant—a certain number of teachers with such and such talents. All of this must be taken into account. In the abstract, a reform program can be drawn up; in concrete terms, however, one only has a number of teachers with specific talents, for whom it may not even be possible to fulfill these abstract requirements.

Our present age does not understand this fundamental difference between life and intellectualism for a very specific reason. It does not understand it because our present age has actually become accustomed to no longer feeling intellectualism, and least of all where it is most intensely felt. Those who truly know today how great the difference between theory and practice is will find the most appalling, impractical theories in today's business life. The current structure of business life is, in reality, as theoretical as possible. But the people who are involved in business life take a robust approach; they elbow their way in and often brutally impose their theoretical ideas. This continues until the business goes under. That's where you can be intellectual. But where life begins to be real life, where something is presented to you as in school, something you cannot simply grasp, but where you have given impulses that must be developed further, even the most beautiful theories are of no help if they cannot be put into practice based on truly individual knowledge of human nature. Therefore, minds that are so filled with all kinds of theoretical pedagogical knowledge are really the least suitable for practical school teaching. People who are guided by instinct, who can recognize children from within themselves, out of a natural love, are actually much more suitable. But today, instincts are no longer so reliable that one can get very far with them without allowing them to be guided by the spirit. Human life has become complicated today, and instinctive life requires a simple human life, a human life that almost reaches down to the simplicity of animal life. All this must be taken into account; only then will it be possible to look in the right way at what is presented here as truly practical pedagogy and didactics.

In this respect, education has gone along with the gradual entry of materialism into our modern civilization. This is particularly evident in the fact that, especially for the age up to the change of teeth, which is actually the most important in human life, mechanical methods have often been introduced instead of organic methods. But we must realize that until the age of tooth replacement, children are predisposed to imitate. What the seriousness of later life demands and weaves into work is, as I mentioned yesterday, acted out by children as play, but as play that is initially very serious for the child. And the difference between the child's play and the work of life is simply that in the work of life, we must first consider how to fit into the external practicality of the world, that we must devote ourselves to the external practicality of the world. And the child wants to develop what it puts into action from its own nature, from its own human life. Play works from the inside out; work works from the outside in. This is precisely the enormously important task of elementary school, to gradually transform play into work. And if one can answer the big question in practical terms: How is play transformed into work? then one has actually answered the fundamental question of elementary school education.

But the child plays in imitation and wants to play in imitation. Because we have not found our way into childhood through a real, true understanding of human nature, we have devised all kinds of games for children in kindergarten based on the intellectualistic considerations of adults, but which are actually invented by adults. While children want to imitate the work of adults, adults often invent special things for children to do, such as laying sticks or similar activities, which completely distract them from what flows naturally from them and what they simply want to imitate in the work of adults. They are led away from this and, through all kinds of mechanically devised activities, are introduced to fields of activity that are not suitable for children of that age. The 19th century in particular was very inventive in devising all kinds of children's work for kindergarten that should not actually be carried out. For in kindergarten, the only thing that really matters is that the child adapts to the few people who run the kindergarten, that these few people behave naturally, and that the child receives the stimulus to imitate what these few people do – that one does not go from one child to another and show them what to do. Because the child does not yet want to obey what it is told to do. It wants to imitate what the adult does. So it is the task of the kindergarten to bring the tasks of life into such forms that they can flow into the child's activities and play. Life, the tasks of life, must be incorporated into the work of the kindergarten. One should not think up things that actually only occur exceptionally in life and that can only really be learned when one has to learn them later in life in addition to what one has learned in the normal way. For example, one can see how children are encouraged to make cuts in sheets of paper and then stick all kinds of red, blue, and yellow things through them, so that colorful paper weavings are created. What this achieves is that the child is prevented from entering into normal life activities by a mechanizing activity. For what is to be done directly with the fingers is done in normal activity by having the child perform some kind of sewing or embroidery in a primitive way. The things that are done by the child must be taken directly from life; they must not be devised by the intellectual culture of adults. What is important in kindergarten is that the child must imitate life.

This work of shaping life in such a way that one carries out in front of the child what is appropriate to the purposes of life, what is appropriate to the child's desire to be active, is a great task, an enormously significant pedagogical task. The work of devising stick laying or doing paper weaving is easy to do. But the work of really shaping our complicated lives in the way that children already do themselves, with boys playing with spades or similar toys and girls playing with dolls – correctly translating human activity into children's play and finding this also for the more complicated activities of life: that is what needs to be done, and it is a long task for which there is still almost no groundwork today. For we must be clear that in this imitation, in this meaningful activity of the child, there is something moral and spiritual, and there is artistic perception, but it is entirely subjective, entirely within the child. Give the child a handkerchief or a rag and tie it so that it has a head at the top and a pair of legs at the bottom, and you have made it a clown or a doll. You can then add eyes, a nose, and a mouth with ink blots, or better yet, let the child do it themselves, and you will see: a healthy child will have great joy with this doll. For then they can supplement what else should be on the doll through pictorial imitative soul activity. It is much better to make a doll for a child out of a scrap of canvas than to give them a beautiful doll, which may even have its cheeks painted in the most impossible color, is beautifully dressed, and can even close its eyes when you lay it down, and so on. What are you doing when you give the child such a doll? You prevent it from developing its soul activity; for it must shut off its soul activity, this wonderfully delicate, awakening imagination, everywhere in order to focus on something very specific and beautifully formed. You separate the child completely from life because you hold back its own activity. This is what is particularly important for the child until it loses its baby teeth.

And when the child then enters school, we encounter the fact that the child is most opposed to reading and writing, as I said yesterday. For isn't it true that there is a man: he has black or blond hair, he has a forehead, nose, eyes, legs; he walks, grasps, says something, he has these or those thoughts – that is the father. But now the child is supposed to take the sign there — FATHER — to mean father. There is no reason for the child to take that to mean father. There is not the slightest reason for it. The child brings with it formative forces that want to come out of its organism, with which it has brought itself internally to the wonderful formation of the brain and what else is connected to it in the nervous system; with which it has brought itself to the wonderful development of its second teeth. Human beings should become humble and ask themselves what they would have to understand if they were to form the second teeth from their art on the basis of the first teeth alone; what unconscious wisdom reigns in all this! The child was devoted to this unconscious wisdom in the formative forces. The child lives in space and time – now the child must be led to meanings as they appear in reading and writing. One must not simply lead the child to what advanced culture has developed in this regard; one must lead the child to what it itself wants from its own nature. One must introduce it to reading and writing in such a way that its formative forces, which have been working within it until the age of 7 and are now becoming free and turning into external soul activity, are allowed to become active.

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If you do not initially write down letters or even words for a child, but instead draw for them what looks like this from the formative forces that also exist in their soul, then you will see that the child still remembers something that is really there, something they have already grasped with their formative forces. The child will say to you: That's a mouth! And now you can gradually guide the child by saying: Now say Mmmouth; leave out the last part. You guide the child to gradually say mmm ... And now you say to them: Now let's draw what you've done there. We've left something out:

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we have painted. And now let's make it simpler:

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It has become an M.

Or we draw something like this for the child (it is drawn): The child will say: Fish ... We will move on to saying F. Let's make this fish simpler! Then it becomes an F. We get the abstract so-called letters out of the pictures everywhere.

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It is not necessary for us to go back in history to see how our current writing really developed from pictorial writing. That is not necessary at all; we do not need to engage in cultural-historical pedagogy. We only need to find our way into it ourselves, inspired by our imagination, and then we will find the possibility in all languages to start with characteristic words that we can transform into images and from which we can then derive the letters. In this way, we turn to what the child wants, especially during the age of tooth replacement and immediately afterwards. And from this it follows that one must first move from drawing to painting and from painting to drawing – because it is good for the child to use colors right away, since it lives in color, as anyone who knows children knows – and then from painting to writing, and only then from writing to reading. For writing is an activity of the whole person. The hand must be taken into account, the whole body must be involved in some way, even if only subtly, the whole person is involved. Writing, which is derived from painting, has something concrete about it. Reading, well, you sit there, you are already a real duck-eater, only one part of the person is making an effort, the head. Reading has already become abstract. It must gradually be developed as a partial phenomenon out of the whole.

With these things, it is extremely difficult today to stand up to the prejudices of the present in a purely natural way. Because when you start teaching children in such a completely natural way, they learn to read a little later than is required today. When children from such a school transfer to another school, they cannot yet do as much as the children from the other school. Yes, but it does not matter what ideas we have formed in this materialistic cultural age about what an eight-year-old child should be able to do. What matters is that it may not be good for the child to learn to read too early. For when a child learns to read too early, we are closing off something for later life. If the child learns to read too early, you are introducing them to abstract concepts too early. And you would make countless future sclerotic patients happy for the rest of their lives if you did not teach them to read too early as children. For this hardening of the whole organism – I call it that in popular terms – which later occurs in the most diverse forms of sclerosis, can be traced back to the wrong way of teaching reading. Of course, these things also come from many other sources, but the point is that these things definitely exist, that natural teaching from the soul and spirit has a hygienic effect on the body everywhere. If you understand how to structure teaching and education, you will also understand how to give children the best health for life. And you can be quite sure: if healthier methods prevailed in today's school system, then many a male would not be walking around bald so early in life, as is very often the case!

These things, which are based on the fact that the soul and spirit continue to have an effect on the physical body, are given far too little consideration from a materialistic point of view. And I would like to emphasize again and again: the tragedy of materialism is that it no longer knows anything about material processes, but only views them from the outside; that it no longer knows how the moral passes into the physical. Today, the way in which human beings are treated — one might almost say mistreated — by science is already leading us to adopt a completely false view. Just think about it: when you open physiology or anatomy books today, you see certain drawings: the skeletal system is depicted, the nervous system is depicted, the circulatory system is depicted. This has a very suggestive effect; one gets the idea that human beings are truly represented when all this is depicted in this way. But this does not represent what the human being is physically and bodily. It is at most 10 percent of it, because 90 percent of the human being is a column of fluid. It consists of 90 percent fluid, which fluctuates continuously within it and cannot be drawn with fixed contours. Now, you will say: physiologists know that! Certainly, but it remains in physiology; it does not carry over into everyday life because the drawings suggestively lead us in a different direction. But what we are even less aware of is that we are not only—to a small extent—solid human beings and, to a large extent, fluid human beings, but that we are also air human beings at every moment. The air outside is inside us the next moment, the air inside us is outside the next moment. I am part of the entire air environment. This is constantly fluctuating within me. And then there are the states of heat! In reality, we must distinguish between solid humans, liquid humans, air humans, heat humans—this could go on, but let's limit ourselves to that for now.

The following shows that people have completely nonsensical, false views about these things. If it were really as it is recorded as the skeletal system, nervous system, and so on, where everything is simply transformed into such a drawing that one is constantly tempted to imagine human beings as mere solid organisms — if all that were true, it would be no wonder that moral and spiritual life cannot enter into these solid bones, into this rigid blood circulation: it has nothing to do with it. But if you now begin to imagine human beings as beings of fluid, as beings of air, and finally as beings of warmth, then you have a subtle agent, a subtle entity — for example, in the states of warmth — and then you will realize how the moral constitution of human beings can indeed flow into the physical process of warmth. If you imagine reality, then you arrive at that unity of the physical and the moral. And you must have that in mind if you want to treat human beings in their development—you must definitely have that in mind.

So it really depends on our ability to look at human beings, to find our way to them from a completely different physiological-psychological basis, and then it becomes clear how to treat these human beings. Otherwise, they develop an inner opposition to what they are actually supposed to learn, whereas the aim must be for them to grow into what they are supposed to learn. And as they grow into it, they naturally begin to love what they are supposed to learn. But they can only grow to love it by growing into it from their own inner forces.

The most harmful thing – especially at this age, from 7, 8, 9th years – are the one-sided illusions, the fixed ideas that people form: this or that should happen in such and such a way. For example, people are so immensely proud that in the course of the 19th century, but already prepared in the 18th century, the old spelling method gave way to the phonetic method and then to the normal word method of learning to read. And because people today are ashamed to still respect the old ways, you will hardly find anyone today who would rave about the old spelling method. They would be considered stupid by today's standards, which is unthinkable – so they are no longer allowed to rave about the old spelling method. The phonetic method, but also the normal word method, are used. People are very proud of the phonetic method, where children are taught the phonetic character. The child does not learn: this is a P or this is an N or this is an R, but learns to pronounce everything as it sounds in the word. Well, that's quite good. The normal word method is also good, where you sometimes start with whole sentences, where you form the sentence for the child, and only then analyze the words and the individual sounds. But it is bad when these things become eccentric. The reasons for all three methods, even for the old spelling method, are all good, all ingenious—there is no denying that they are all ingenious. But where does this ingenuity come from? It comes from the following. Imagine you have known a person from a photograph and have always seen them en face. You have a certain idea of what this person looks like. Now you are given a picture, and someone says: This is a picture of that person. The picture is now a profile picture. You will say: But no, that's a completely wrong picture! The person looks completely different: here is the picture en face, that is the correct picture, the other one is completely wrong. It is a picture of the same person in this case, but it was taken from the other side. And that's how it always is in life – things in life must be viewed from all sides. One can fall in love with a one-sided point of view because it can be very witty, one can have good reasons, one can defend the spelling method, the phonetic method, the normal word method, and the opponent will not be able to refute one because one naturally believes only in one's own reasons. It is quite possible that the best reasons are put forward, but they are one-sided. In practical life, things must always be approached from a wide variety of angles.

Once you have derived the forms from painting-drawing and drawing-painting, and once you have moved on to cultivating a kind of sound or word method, so that the child does not get too lost in the details but is guided toward the whole, then something has been lost in the materialistic age, And that is the following: the sound as such, the individual M, the individual P, that is also something. And it is important that when the sound is inside the word, it has already made its way to the outside world, it has already passed into the material-physical world. What we have in our soul are the sounds as such, and this depends very much on the nature of our soul. When we spell, if we want to express the M, we actually say EM. The Greeks did not do this; they said MY. That is, they placed the auxiliary vowel after the consonant, while we place it before. Today, in Central Europe, we obtain the sound by going from the vowel to the consonant. In Greece, the same sound was obtained by going the other way around. This points to the underlying state of mind.

For those who do not merely look at the external aspects of language, at how language has already become a language of meaning – our languages are almost all languages of meaning; we have hardly anything else in words than signs for what is outside – those who go back from there to the soul that lives in words, that lives in language itself, will return to the so-called sound. For everything consonantal has a completely different character than everything vocalic. You know that there are many different theories about the origin of language. It is like photography. Among other things, there is the “woof-woof” theory. This theory posits that what humans form linguistically is an imitation of the sounds that emanate from beings. They imitate this essence. They hear the dog: woof-woof. When they themselves believe they are expressing something similar in their state of mind, they also use a similar sound. There is nothing wrong with this. There are many reasons to cite for this woof-woof theory, very clever reasons. If one remains on its ground, they cannot be refuted. But life does not consist of justification and refutation; life consists of living movement, transformation, living metamorphosis. What is right in one place is wrong in another, and vice versa. Life must be understood in all its mobility. You know, there is another theory that opposes and combats the woof-woof theory. It derives the origin of language from the fact that, just as when a bell is struck, the metal has a certain internal constitution and this or that sound comes out, so man behaves towards things. This bim-bam theory is more about empathizing with things than imitating them externally. It is, in turn, quite correct for certain things. One could say that this theory has a lot going for it, as does the woof-woof theory. But real language does not arise either through the bim-bam way or the woof-woof way, but through both ways and many other ways. These are one-sided approaches. Some things in our language are really formed in such a way that the bim-bam is felt, some things are formed in such a way that they imitate woof-woof or moo-moo. It is certainly true that both theories are correct, as are some others. But what matters is that one grasps life. If one grasps life, one will find that the woof-woof theory is more suitable for vowels and the bim-bam theory for consonants; but again, not entirely, for these are only one-sided views. Ultimately, however, one comes to realize—as I have already indicated in the short work “The Spiritual Guidance of Man and Humanity”—that the consonants are in fact modeled on external events and the external forms of things: the F is modeled on the fish, the M on the mouth, the L on running, and so on. The consonants have already developed in such a way that, in a certain sense, they correspond to the BimBam theory — but it would need to be refined. The vowels, however, are expressions, revelations of the inner self. In the form he gives to the sound or the letter, he does not imitate the external, he does not imitate at all, but expresses his feelings of sympathy and antipathy. His feeling of joy or curiosity with 7; of amazement or wonder: A, I am amazed; Z, I want something away that bothers me; U, I am afraid; Ei, I love you. Everything that lies in the vowels is an immediate revelation of the soul's sympathies and antipathies. It does not arise through imitation, but rather in this way: the human being wants to express himself, wants to express his sympathies and antipathies. Now, when the dog wants to grasp something frightening, he hears the dog go “woof-woof”: he adapts when his experience is similar to the dog's “woof-woof” and the like. But the path of vocalization is one from the inside out; the path of consonantization is from the outside in, from imitation. Imitation already occurs in sound. You will be able to prove this if you go into detail.

But then you will see, because this only applies to sounds, not to words – it does not depend on the soul – that it is already a continuation of the word to the original state of the soul when one then also gets so far in the analysis that one teaches the child letters. So that one can say: one only has to correctly grasp what the child itself demands at a certain age, and then one will basically use a jumble of letters, just as a proper photographer — who can often be annoying in this way — also has the subject turn around and photographs him from all sides; only then does he have him. So it is also necessary that those who want to approach people understand them from all sides. With the normal word method, one only grasps the physical and bodily aspects. With the sound method, one already comes close to the soul, and – horribile dictu – yes, it is terrible to say: with the spelling method, one enters completely into the soul. The latter is, of course, still idiotic today, but it is undoubtedly more spiritual; it just cannot be applied directly. It must be introduced to the child with a certain pedagogical skill and practice, with artistic pedagogy, so that the child is not trained to pronounce the letters conventionally, but experiences the emergence of the letter, which lies in its imaginative powers, which it really has. That is what matters. And then we will see that it is still quite sufficient if we teach the child to read in this way by the age of about 9. It does not matter at all if the child cannot read earlier, because it has learned to read in a natural way if it has learned in the manner just described and is a few months over nine years old. With different children, it may be a little earlier or later.

This marks the beginning of a smaller stage in the child's life. The major stages of life are those mentioned several times: from birth to the change of teeth, from the change of teeth to sexual maturity, then into the twenties. But nowadays, one can no longer speak of development at all! Today, it is no longer acceptable to tell people that they will continue to develop until they reach a particular stage of maturity after the age of 21. That would offend people today, because they no longer develop; they write feature articles. So today, we have to be a little more cautious when talking about later stages of life. But it is necessary for educators and teachers to grasp the major stages of life and also the minor stages that lie within the major ones. There is a minor stage between the ages of 9 and 10, closer to the age of 9, when the child begins to distinguish itself more and more from its surroundings. It is only then that it actually becomes aware that it is an I. Before this, therefore, education and teaching must bring the child into contact with its environment in such a way that it grows together with it as much as possible; up to this age, the child cannot distinguish itself from its environment as an I. In this regard, the most curious views prevail. For example, think of the remark you often hear: When a child bumps into a corner, it starts hitting the corner. Then the intellectualist comes along and explains it like this: you only hit something when you have consciously perceived what has bumped into you. That is the definition of the case for hitting — yes, with such definitions, one always wants to recall the Greek example of the definition: What is a human being? A human being is a living creature that has two legs and no feathers. That is a very correct definition. It goes back to ancient Greece. I don't want to go into the fact that our physics definitions today are not much better; children are often taught that a human being is a creature that walks on two legs and has no feathers. A boy who was a little more bright thought further about the story. He caught a rooster, plucked its feathers, and brought it to school. He showed the plucked rooster and said, “This is a human being! This is a creature that walks on two legs and has no feathers.” Well, definitions are very useful, but they are almost always very one-sided. What matters is that you find your way directly into life. I have to repeat this again and again. The point is that, above all, you have to understand how children up to the age of 9 do not really distinguish themselves from their surroundings. So you can't really say that the child imagines the table to be alive when it hits it. That doesn't even occur to it. It hits out of the innermost part of its being. This animism, this imbuing of inorganic objects with soul, which has already crept into cultural history, does not exist. It is quite astonishing how imaginative scholars often are when they believe, for example, that humans animate things. Entire mythologies are explained in this way. It is as if the people who say such things have never met primitive people. For example, it would never occur to a farmer, who is also primitive, to animate natural phenomena. The point is that the child does not have the concepts of “animating” or “giving life to things.” Everything lives as it lives, but the child does not consciously dream this into existence. Therefore, you must not make any distinction in your descriptions and speech when you describe the environment: you must let the plants live, you must let everything live, because the child does not yet distinguish itself as an “I” from its surroundings. Therefore, until the age of 9, you cannot approach the child with anything that is, for example, an intellectual description. You must transform everything into images with complete freshness. Where the image ends and the description begins, you will achieve nothing in the 8th or 9th year of life. Only afterwards is this possible. And then it is again a matter of finding the right way to approach these individual stages of life. Until the age of 9, the child only has an understanding of pictorial representations; anything else passes by the child's comprehension as sound passes by the eye. But at the point between the ages of 9 and 10, you can then begin to describe, say, plants. You can start with primitive descriptions of plant life, because at this age the child gradually begins to distinguish itself from its surroundings. But you cannot yet describe minerals to it, because its power of discrimination is not yet strong enough to grasp the great difference between what it experiences inwardly and the mineral. It now has the ability to grasp the difference between itself and the plant. Then you can gradually move on to describing animals.

But this must be done in such a way that the whole thing fits properly into life. Today we have botany. We are inclined to bring this into the school as well. We do this out of a certain sluggishness. Actually, it is terrible when we bring what we rightly have as adults in botany into school. For what is this botany that we have? It is a systematic arrangement of plants that are found according to certain criteria. First, the fungi, algae, buttercups, and so on are described, all side by side. Yes, but when you develop such a science, which is quite good as a science, well, then it's roughly the same as if you pulled out a person's hair and then developed a system of the hair types that grow behind the ears, that grow on top, that grow on the legs, as if you arranged all of that systematically. You will come up with a nice system, but you will not understand the nature of hair. We therefore refrain from doing this because it is too obvious that we must consider the nature of hair in relation to the whole human being. Plants do not exist on their own either; plants belong to the earth. You think you can understand a laburnum by looking at it as it is classified in botany! I have nothing against it being classified in botany; but you can only understand why it is yellow if you see it on the sunny slopes and observe the soil layers beneath it: it is because of the color of the soil beneath! Then the plant will appear to you like hair sprouting from a human being. The earth, familiar to the child, with the plants growing on it, thus becomes a whole. You must not approach the child directly with what comes from today's botany and bring this into the school. Here, too, one must describe the plant and the earth from life, just as one describes the hair that grows out of the human being. And so you cannot describe the plant without talking about sunshine, climate, and the configuration of the earth in a way that is appropriate for the child.

Describing individual plants side by side, as you do in botany, so that you say: You must also offer the child visual instruction – that is not appropriate for the child. Visual instruction is also about what you let the child see. The child has an instinctive feeling from within for what is alive, what is truly real. If you present them with what is dead, you hurt this liveliness, this sense of what is truly real in the child. But people today have little sense of the differences between beings. Just think of a philosopher today who reflects on the concept of being. It will be all the same to him whether he takes a rock crystal or a flower as an example of a being. For both are there, you can lay them down, they are existing things. But that is not true at all! Things are not the same in relation to being. You can pick up the rock crystal again in three years: it is there through its own existence. The flower is not at all as it is. The flower itself is a natural lie; it can only have an existence on the whole plant. You have to describe the whole plant if you want to be justified in attributing an existence to the flower. The flower taken on its own is a real abstraction; rock crystal is not. But today we have completely lost our sense of such distinctions in reality. Children still have this instinctively. If you show a child something that is not a whole, it is deeply disturbed inside. This continues to affect people into later life. Otherwise, Tagore would not have described the eerie impression that the severed leg made on him in his childhood. A human leg is not reality; it has nothing to do with reality. For the leg is only a leg as long as it is part of the whole organism; if it is severed, it ceases to be a leg.

But such things must become thoroughly ingrained in us so that we all grasp reality in such a way that we start from the totality and not from the individual. We could treat the individual in a completely wrong way. In botany, for example, we must start from the whole earth for children and regard plants as the hair that grows on the earth, so to speak.

And animals – yes, children cannot relate to animals at all if you develop them side by side. You can expect a little more from children here, because the treatment of animals only begins in the 10th or 11th year of life. Teaching children about animals in this way – side by side – is certainly good from a scientific point of view, but it is not realistic. The reality is that the entire animal kingdom is an extended human being. Take the lion: it is the one-sided development of the chest organization in particular. Take the elephant: its entire organization is developed toward the extension of the upper lip; the giraffe: its entire organization is developed toward the extension of the neck. If you understand each animal in such a way that some organ system of the human being is one-sided in the animal, and then survey the entire animal kingdom down to the insect, and even further down to the geological animals—terebratules are basically not geological animals—then you come to say to yourself: The entire animal kingdom is a human being unfolded like a fan, and the human being, in terms of his physical organization, is the folding together of the entire animal kingdom. This brings what the animal kingdom is into the right distance from the human being – and also back into the right relationship with the human being. Of course, I am saying something abstract here in a few words. You have to translate this into something living, so that you can really describe every animal form as a one-sided development of a human organ system. If you find the necessary strength to describe this vividly to the children, you will see how quickly they grasp it. Because that is what they want. Plants are connected to the earth as if they were the hair of the earth. Animals are connected to humans as if humans were to become one-sided, as if they were sometimes arms, sometimes legs, sometimes noses and the like, sometimes upper bodies, and this then took shape: then you get the shape of animals, of the entire animal kingdom. In this way, one really succeeds in designing lessons that are related to what lives in the developing human being, the child itself.

Questions and Answers

On a question about religious education.

A misunderstanding has arisen because I have described how the child develops in terms of its religious impulses. I have not yet spoken about religious education in my lectures, because I have only just begun with pedagogy and didactics today. What I have explained is that there is a kind of physical-religious, or, as I said, bodily-religious relationship between the child and its environment. So that what the child simply practices through its organization until it loses its baby teeth only transitions into thinking after puberty, around the age of 14 or 15. I used the comparison that what initially manifests itself in a physical-spiritual way continues to flow in a kind of undercurrent and then only appears in the 15th year or so in the thinking through which religion appears in adults. Now, the thing is that, especially in natural pedagogy, what occurs at any age must be carefully prepared for in earlier stages of life. And the didactic-pedagogical question that arises from this is this: How should religious instruction be organized in elementary school, taking into account these laws of human development? This is a question that will be addressed in the next lectures. What I would like to say in advance is this: we must be clear that the religious element is truly innate in human beings and belongs to human nature. This is particularly evident in the fact that the religious orientation of the child, as I have described it, can be found until the change of teeth. What we now have as the religion of adults through general civilization is, of course, one that lives in ideas or at least gets its content from ideas, which, however, are lived out primarily in the mind. People only become mature enough for this content of ideas after the age of 14. This leaves us with the important question for the elementary school age: How should we organize religious education? The first question that arises is: What should we focus on during this age, from 7 to 14 years? In the first phase of life, up to the change of teeth, we actually influence the physical body as an educational environment. After puberty, we basically influence judgment and imagination. In the interim period, we influence the mind and feelings. It is therefore necessary to begin this period by using pictures with children who are entering elementary school. These pictures influence the senses and the mind. The imagination matures gradually and is prepared for the right age. Now, as I will explain tomorrow for individual subjects, we must ensure that we bring religious education above all to the heart. And that is what it is all about: what affects the heart and the emotions? Yes, above all, what is experienced in sympathies and antipathies has an effect. If we now develop such sympathies and antipathies in children between the ages of 7 and 14 that prepare them for a proper religious judgment, then we are doing the right thing. So we say: we do not organize our teaching in such a way that we put commandments first everywhere, “You shall do this, you shall not do that”; that is not suitable, especially for this childish age, but we must organize our teaching in such a way that the child develops sympathy for what it should do. We keep what they should do in the background, but we use pictures to show them what should appeal to them in a higher and very elevated sense, also in a religious context. We try to instill in them an antipathy for what they should not do. In this way, we try, precisely through emotional judgment, always using images, to gradually lead the child from the divine-spiritual in nature, through the divine-spiritual in human beings, to the appropriation of the divine-spiritual. But the whole thing must go through the mind and feelings, especially at elementary school age. So not dogmatically and not prescriptively, but rather preparing the mind and feelings for what may later arise in self-formed judgment. And we will achieve quite different successes, especially for the religious orientation of the human being, than if we come with commandments or articles of faith at an age when the child is not receptive to them. When we show them the images and thereby prepare them for what the young person will later have to form a religious judgment about, we give them the opportunity to truly grasp through their own spirituality what they should grasp as their innermost being, namely religious orientation. In a sense, we give the child the freedom to orient themselves religiously when we bring religion to their mind, that is, when we present religion in images, not in articles of faith or commandments. It is of tremendous importance that after reaching sexual maturity and into their twenties, people have the opportunity to form their own judgments about what they have absorbed in their minds and feelings, I would say with a certain breadth and versatility. They then set out on their own path to the divine. There is a big difference between a child, during the period when it is attuned to authority, being given a fixed direction by that authority, and being guided in such a way that it sees the religious orientation of its educator or teacher, climbs up to it figuratively, and can then later draw from it the “thou shalt” and “thou shalt not.” After it has first found pleasure or displeasure in what emerges as “Thou shalt” and “Thou shalt not,” after it has learned to recognize in a pictorial view of nature how the mind is freed by the idea of a divine-spiritual weaving in nature and history, it comes to form its own ideas. It has the opportunity to receive religious education from the center of life, which can only be reached with sexual maturity. So it is a matter of preparing for the future in the right way from these foundations, which are gained from knowledge of human nature. I have illustrated this in my lectures by using a comparison with a river that sinks underground and reappears further down. In the first seven years of life, human beings are religiously inclined. This now enters the depths of the mind, becomes entirely spiritual, and only reappears on the surface as thinking with sexual maturity. And now we must work into the depths of his soul through a personal revelation of the soul. In this way, we prepare the child for what will make him a religious person, whereas we prevent this if we do not offer him the opportunity to gain religious orientation from the center of his own being. This personal religious orientation lies within the human being. It must be gained after the age of 15. We must prepare for it in the right way. That is why religious education must be structured like other lessons at this age; it must have a pictorial effect on the mind and stimulate the child's feelings. A religious element can be brought into every subject, even mathematics. Those who are familiar with Waldorf school teaching will sense that this is the case. Christianity is really present in all individual subjects, even in mathematics. The religious element underlies everything. However, due to today's circumstances, we are forced to teach actual religious education, because we are not a school based on a particular worldview, but rather a pedagogical school, and because we actually only value teaching according to natural methods – we have based our school on anthroposophy precisely because we believe that it gives rise to a truly correct pedagogy, but we do not want to train anthroposophists in the Waldorf school; that is why we have Catholic priests teach Catholic religious education and Protestant pastors teach Protestant religious education. Those who are now taught by our own teachers are actually the children who would mostly be dissident children today, i.e., who would not receive any religious education. It is a surprising fact that this is the vast majority of Waldorf school children. They all now come to the so-called free religious education, which basically only summarizes what actually dominates the entire curriculum. This free religious education actually causes us quite a lot of concern. We have a very special relationship with the school with regard to this teaching. We regard all other subjects as those that must be taught using the necessary pedagogical and didactic methods developed through anthroposophical research. We teach the free religious instruction ourselves, feeling just as much a part of the school as the Catholic and Protestant religious education teachers. We teach it as outsiders within the school. We do not want to have a worldview or denominational school, not even in the anthroposophical sense, but ultimately, of course, the anthroposophical methodology is particularly fruitful in this free religious education, in which anthroposophy is not taught, but in which we work in the way I have just described methodologically. All kinds of objections are raised against this free religious education, for example, that so many children are switching from the other religious education to the free one. This causes a lot of difficulties because we had to hire one religious education teacher after another and no longer have enough people for it. We cannot help it if the children switch from the other religious education classes. This is simply because the others do not have the methodology that is used in our religious education classes. For us, the right pedagogy is also important in religious education.

On another question.

The characteristic feature of the Waldorf school is that it considers all questions from a pedagogical point of view, including religious education. However, Pastor X will admit that the two issues mentioned, namely the question of replacing religious education with moral education and the denominational school, are raised from completely different points of view. Above all, the replacement of religious instruction with moral instruction is raised by those who want to eliminate religion from civilization altogether, who consider religion to have become superfluous. Naturally, they do not want religion, but moral instruction. On the other hand, the inclination toward dogmatic denominations naturally gives rise to a desire to make schools denominational. However, these are not pedagogical considerations. But in order to connect something precise with what must be called pedagogy, I would like to say: What is the pedagogical consideration? The pedagogical point of view can only be to assume that human beings, as is self-evident, are not yet fully formed in their childhood or youth, but must first become so; that one only becomes a human being in the course of life. All human aptitudes must therefore be developed. This is ultimately the most abstract form of the pedagogical point of view. If someone speaks from an educational point of view and says, based on the knowledge of human nature that underlies education, that children are born with a religious disposition, that in the first seven years of life they even have a religious disposition in their physicality, then it must seem to them that if one wants to replace religious instruction with moral instruction, it is as if one did not want to develop a physical limb of the human being, a leg, because one would come to the conclusion that humans need everything except trained legs. Wanting to omit what belongs to the human being can spring from fanaticism, but never from pedagogy. Insofar as educational principles are being championed everywhere and educational initiatives are being considered, the necessity of religious instruction follows entirely from an educational point of view. Therefore, as I have already said, we have established free religious education for those children who would otherwise be non-denominational, i.e., who would not have religious education according to the Württemberg School Act. As a result, we have no children in the Waldorf school without religious education, because they all attend free religious education. This gives us the opportunity to bring religious life back into the school. Perhaps the best religious renewal will be to properly cultivate religious life in school, to combat what today appears to be a lack of religious education by simply appealing to the original religious disposition of human beings. I consider it a kind of success in the Waldorf school that we have brought the dissident children to religious education in this way. The Catholic and Protestant children would have come to their religious education classes anyway, but it was really not so easy to find a form that would now turn all the other children to religious education. This has been our goal from an educational point of view.