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Waldorf Education and Anthroposophy I
GA 304

11 November 1921, Aarau

IV. The Fundamentals of Waldorf Education

When, after the collapse of Germany in 1918, a movement toward social renewal was born in Stuttgart with the aim of lifting the country out of the chaos of the times and guiding it toward a more hopeful future, one of the oldest friends of the anthroposophical movement, Emil Molt, conceived the idea of founding the Waldorf school in Stuttgart. Mr. Molt was in a position to implement that idea almost immediately, for he was in charge of an industrial enterprise employing a large number of workers. Thanks to the excellent relations existing between the management of that enterprise, the Waldorf-Astoria Cigarette Factory, and its workers, it proved possible to attract all of the workers’ children to the school. In this way, more than two years ago, the Waldorf School was founded, primarily for working class children.

During the past two years, however, the school has grown almost from month to month. Today we have not only the original pupils of the Waldorf school—whose guidance was put into my care—but also many other children from all social classes and backgrounds. Indeed, the number of pupils who have found their way into the Waldorf school from all quarters of the population is now considerably larger than the original number of founding pupils, the children of the factory workers.

This fact shows the Waldorf school to be in practice a school for children of all types, coming from different classes and cultures, all of whom receive the same teaching, based on our own methods.

The idea of the Waldorf school grew out of the anthroposophical movement, a movement that, nowadays, attracts a great deal of hostility because it is widely misunderstood. In tonight’s talk, and by way of introduction, I will mention only one such misunderstanding. This misunderstanding asserts that it is the aim of anthroposophy or spiritual science, particularly in its social aspects, to be revolutionary or somehow subversive, which is not at all the case. I must emphasize this because it is of special importance for our pedagogical theme. As anthroposophical spiritual science seeks to deepen and fructify the many branches of science that have developed in the cultural and spiritual sphere during the last three or four centuries, it has no intention whatever of opposing modern science in any way. Nor does it wish to introduce amateurism into modern science. It only wishes to deepen and to widen the achievements of modern science, including modern medicine.

Likewise, the education arising from anthroposophical spiritual science does not wish to oppose the tenets of recent educational theory as put forward by its great representatives. Nor does it wish to encourage amateurism in this field either. Acknowledging the achievements of modern natural science, anthroposophical spiritual science has every reason to appreciate the aims and the achievements of the great educators at the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries. Anthroposophy has no wish to oppose them. It wishes only to deepen their work by what can be gained through anthroposophical research. It wishes to stand entirely on the ground of modern pedagogical thinking. However, it does find it necessary to expand the scope of modern pedagogical thinking and I shall endeavor to give a few outlines of how this is to be done.

Though the Waldorf school takes its starting point from anthroposophical spiritual science, it is nevertheless not an ideological school—and this I hope will be accepted as an important fact. The Waldorf school is not in the least concerned with carrying into the school anthroposophical dogma or anthroposophical convictions. It seeks to be neither ideological nor sectarian nor denominational, for this would not be in character with anthroposophical spiritual science. Unfortunately, the opposite is often erroneously believed.

The Waldorf school, which has its roots in anthroposophy, is a school applying specific methods and classroom practices, as well as pedagogical ideas and impulses drawn from anthroposophically- oriented spiritual science. When we founded the school, we were simply not in a position to insist on such radical demands as are frequently made by some modern educators who maintain, for instance, that, if one wants to educate children properly, one has to open boarding schools or the like in the country, away from cities. There are many such endeavors today, and we have no objection to them on our part. From their point of view, we fully understand the reasoning behind their demands. In the Waldorf school, however, we are not in the same happy position. We had to accept a given situation. The possibility was granted to us to place what was to become the Waldorf school in a city, in the very life of a city. There was no question of first insisting on the right outer conditions for the school. What mattered was to achieve what had to be achieved through the principles and methods of our education under given circumstances.

It is a characteristic feature of anthroposophical spiritual science that it can adapt itself to any outer conditions, for it wants to be able to work under all conditions of life. It has no wish to chase after utopian ideals, but wants to create something in harmony with the human potential of its members out of the immediate practical conditions and the practical needs of life in any given situation.

To repeat, no dogma is to be carried into the school. What a person standing within the anthroposophical movement does gain, however, is a way of knowing that involves our whole humanity. The educational life of our times tends to favor a certain intellectualism. Therefore there is no need to fear that the Waldorf school teaches its pupils that a human being consists not only of a physical body (as you can read in many anthroposophical writings) but also of an etheric body, supplying the formative and organic growing forces at work in the physical body, and also of an astral body that, during earthly life, carries what was developed during pre-earthly existence—prior to physical birth or, rather, conception, and so on—into the human physical organization. None of this is taught in the school. But, if we know that human beings, when observed with scientific accuracy, consist of body, soul, and spirit, and if we grasp how this is revealed in the child as a human being in the making, we gain a deeper and truer knowledge of the human being than is possible through present-day natural science.

We do not grasp this deeper knowledge of human beings and all that anthroposophical spiritual science can learn about them only with our powers of thinking: the whole human being—thinking, feeling, and willing—is involved. This, however, is not the substance from which the training methods for work in the Waldorf school are to be drawn. Rather, anthroposophical knowledge creates in our teachers the forces of will to do all that they can for growing children in accordance with the demands of each child’s organization. However paradoxical it might sound, the child is the teacher “par excellence” in the Waldorf school. For Waldorf teachers are fully convinced that what they meet in their children, week by week, year by year, is the outer manifestation of divine and spiritual beings who have come down to earth from a purely soul and spiritual existence in order to evolve in a physical body on earth between birth and death. They realize that each child’s being unites—by means of the stream of heredity coming through the parents and their ancestors—with what is bestowed physically and etherically. Waldorf teachers have an enormously deep reverence for the young human being who, in the first days after birth, already shows how an inner soul-being manifests in physiognomy, in the first limb movements, and in the first babblings that gradually grow into human speech. Anthroposophical knowledge of human beings creates a deep reverence for what the divine world has sent down to earth and that inner attitude of reverence is the characteristic feature of Waldorf teachers as they enter their classrooms every morning. From the daily revelations of this mysterious spirit and soul existence, they discover what they as teachers must do with their children.

This is the reason why one cannot formulate the methods of the Waldorf school in a few abstract rules. One cannot say: point one, point two, point three, and so on. Rather, one has to say that, through anthroposophical spiritual science, a teacher comes to know the growing human being and learns to observe what looks out of a child’s eyes and reveals itself in a child’s fidgety leg movements. Because teachers are thoroughly grounded in an understanding of the whole human being, their knowledge of anthroposophy fills not only their intellect, with its capacity to systematize, but embraces the whole human being who also feels and wills. These teachers approach their pupils in such a way that their methods acquire a living existence that they can always modify and metamorphose, even in larger classes, to suit each individual child.

Anyone hearing all of this in the abstract, might well respond, “These crazy anthroposophists! They believe that a human being does not only have a physical body which, as a corpse, may be carefully examined and investigated in physiology and biology; they also believe that human beings have etheric, and even astral, bodies; and they believe that we can know these if we practice certain soul exercises; they believe that if we strengthen our thinking to the point where the whole human being is transformed into a kind of ‘supersensible sense organ’—if I may use Goethe’s expression—we can see more than we do in ordinary human life.” It is easy to poke fun at such “crazy anthroposophists,” who speak in these terms of supersensible beings in the sense-perceptible world. But if these convictions—based not on weird fantasies but on well-grounded knowledge—are carried into teaching, those whose task it is to educate the young are able to look upon growing children realistically as beings of body, soul, and spirit. And this is how children must be observed if our pupils’ innermost being is to be revealed.

I do not wish to say anything derogatory about what, today, is referred to as experimental psychology or experimental pedagogy. I appreciate what those scientific disciplines are capable of achieving and I acknowledge it. But, just because of those disciplines, we must deepen our educational life all the more. For, aside from their positive aspects, they demonstrate that we are not getting closer to children in a direct and natural way, but that, on the contrary, we have become more estranged from them than ever before. External experiments are made with children to ascertain how their thinking, their memory, and even their will function. From the ensuing statistics, rules and regulations are then drawn up. Certainly, such findings have their uses, especially if one is an anthroposophist. But, if we regard them as the “be-all and end-all” and a foundation for education, we only adduce proof that, in actual fact, we have not reached the child’s real being in any way. Why do we find it necessary to engage in experiments at all? Only because the direct, immediate relationship of teacher to child, which was there in ancient, Biblical times—if I may use this expression—has been lost under the influence of our modern materialistic culture. External experiments are made because there no longer exists a direct feeling and understanding for what actually happens within a child. The fact of these external experiments is in itself proof that we have lost a direct relationship with our children and that we should try to rediscover it with all available power.

When we study contemporary experimental psychology and pedagogy, it often seems as if the experimentalist were like someone observing a person riding a horse to see how he or she does on a smooth path as compared to more difficult terrain. From such observations, the experimentalist then compiles statistics: on the smooth path, such and such a distance in fifteen minutes; on a slippery path, so many miles; on an uneven path, so many more miles; and so on. This is the way of working that we also find, more or less, in experiments made to determine whether a child will remember something for a quarter of an hour, or whether a child omits so and so many of the words to be remembered, and so on. To return to our simile; if we were to compile statistical details about the rider, we would have to take into consideration not only the state of the paths but also what the horse was capable of doing on the particular paths observed, and so on. But we will never succeed by this method in discovering anything about the rider him- or herself (although it would of course be perfectly possible to include the rider in statistical observations as well). What really matters is not just that we carry out external experiments on those to be educated, but that, as teachers, we are in direct, natural contact with children through our understanding of their inner nature.

In anthroposophical spiritual science, one learns to know what is given when a baby is born. We learn that a child bears within itself not only what we can perceive with our senses but also a spirit-soul being that has united with the physical embryo. We learn to know exactly how this spirit-soul being develops, just as we learn from material science how the physical germ develops within the hereditary flow. We learn to recognize that, independent of the inherited traits, something of a supersensible spirit and soul nature enters. Without teaching it as a dogma—and I must emphasize this repeatedly—this perspective nevertheless becomes a means of orientation for the teacher—something that serves to guide a teacher’s observations of children even before they enter school.

In the case of a child learning to speak, the following premise is useful. We must observe not only what belongs to the stream of heredity but also what develops in the child from spiritual depths. Language is part of this. When one observes human beings in the light of anthroposophical spiritual science—discriminating between the more inward, astral body and the more outward etheric body—one comes to know the nature of the human will in quite a new way. One sees the will as more allied to the astral body while thinking, for instance, is seen to be more closely connected with the etheric body. One learns to know how these members interact in speaking. For in observing and experiencing life, we have to do not only with outer facts but with placing these facts in the right light.

Let us now take a well trained observer of life, someone schooled in anthroposophy to know human beings, and place this person beside a child who is going through the process of learning to speak. If we have really learned to look into a child’s soul life, recognizing the imponderables at play between adult and child, we can learn more about children’s psychology by observing real-life situations than, for example, the eminent psychologist Wilhelm Preyer did by means of statistical records. For instance, we learn to recognize the immense difference between, let us say, when we hear a mother or father speaking to a child to calm it down and saying, “Ee Ee,” and when we hear someone who is speaking to a child about something more outward in its immediate environment and says, “Hsh, hsh!” With every vowel sound, we speak directly to a child’s feeling life. We address ourselves to the innermost being of the child’s soul. With the help of spiritual science, we learn to know how to stimulate a particular soul area. And in this way, we bring about a certain connection between adult and child that generates a close relationship between teacher and pupil, allowing something to flow from the teacher directly to the child’s inmost feeling.

If, for example, we speak to a child about how cold it is outside, that child is taken into the realm of consonants (as in “Hsh-Hsh”), where we work directly on the child’s will. We can thus observe that we stimulate in one instance a child’s feeling life, and in another the child’s life of movement, which lives in will impulses.

With this example, I merely wanted to indicate how light can be shed upon everything, even the most elementary things, provided we have a comprehensive knowledge of life. Today, there exists a magnificent science of language from which education certainly can benefit a great deal. That science, however, studies language as if it were something quite separate from human beings. But, if we are schooled in anthroposophical spiritual science, we learn to look at language not as something floating above human beings who then take hold of it and bring it into their lives; we learn that language is directly connected with the whole human being, and we learn to use this knowledge in practical life. We learn how a child’s inner relationship to the vowel element is connected with a warming glow in the feeling life, whereas the consonantal element—whatever a child experiences through consonants—is closely linked to the movements of the will.

The point is that one learns to observe the child more intimately. This kind of observation, this empathy with the child, has gradually been lost. So often today, when attempts are made to educate young human beings, it is as if we were actually circumventing the child’s real being—as if our modern science of education had lost direct contact with the child to be educated.

We no longer recognize that speech is organically linked to all processes of growth and to all that happens in a child. Fundamentally, we no longer know that, in raising a child to become an imitator in the right way, we are helping it become inwardly warm and rich in feelings. Until the change of teeth, around the seventh year, children depend entirely on imitation and all upbringing and education during those early years depends basically upon this faculty. Only if we gain a clear understanding of this faculty of imitation during the first years of life and can follow it closely from year to year will the hidden depths of a child’s inner nature be revealed to us, so that we can educate our pupils in ways that, later on, will place them fully into life.

This is true not only of speech but of whatever we must teach our children before they enter school. As I say, until the second dentition, a child is, fundamentally speaking, wholly dependent on imitation. Anthroposophical spiritual science allows us to study the young child’s faculty of imitation in all spheres of life—and speech, too, develops entirely through imitation. But the study of the faculty of imitation enables us to look more deeply into the nature of the growing human being in other ways too. Although contemporary psychology constantly thinks around the problem of how the human soul or—as it is sometimes called—the human spirit is connected to the human physical body, it is not in a position to come to any exact idea of the relationship between the human soul and spirit on one side and the physical and bodily counterpart on the other. Basically, psychology only knows the physical aspects of the human being, when, like a corpse, the body is bereft of soul and spirit; on the other hand, it has distanced itself from the human soul and spirit as I have spoken of them. This situation can best be clarified with the help of a particular example. Contemporary science does not appreciate the importance of such phenomena as the second dentition occurring around the seventh year. But the kind of observation fostered by spiritual science reveals how a child’s soul forces change during this process. A child’s memory and ability to think, and also a child’s faculty of feeling, become very different during these years. Actually, one cannot see a child’s soul life develop before about the seventh year. But where was this emerging soul life with which we have to deal when the child enters school before the seventh year? Where was it previously?

The method employed by scientific thinking is perfectly appropriate in the inorganic realm. When physicists today study certain substances that emit heat after undergoing a particular process, they ascribe that heat to the warmth that was formerly contained within the substance as “latent” or hidden heat. Then they study how, when subjected to a particular process, that latent heat is liberated or released from the physical substance. They would not dream of concluding that the radiating heat had somehow come into the matter from outside, but they study the condition in which the heat existed while already present there. This way of thinking, inaugurated by physics, can be transferred to the more complicated realm of the human being.

If, from an anthroposophical point of view, we study how a child’s memory and will assume a particular configuration in the seventh year, we will not conclude that these new faculties have suddenly “flown into the child.” We will assume that they developed within the child itself. But where were they previously? They were active in the child’s physical organism. In other words, what the teacher must educate was previously a latent, hidden force in the child’s own being. That force has been liberated. As long as children need the forces that will culminate with the pushing out of the second teeth, those forces will be active in the child’s inner realm. With the shedding of the milk teeth and the emergence of the second teeth, those forces—like the latent heat in certain substances—are released from their task and reveal themselves as new soul and spiritual capacities. These we then actively engage in our teaching.

Only by studying examples from real life can we learn to understand how soul and body work together. We can engage in endless philosophical speculation about the relationship of soul and body to each other but, when studying early childhood up to the seventh year, we must observe the actual facts. Only then will we recognize that forces that have left the organic bodily realm after the change of teeth are free to be used by the teacher in quite a new way.

The same principle applies to the whole span of human life. All of the speculative theories about the relationship of soul and body that we can find in books on philosophy and physiology are useless unless they are based on a mode of observation that is exact according to proper scientific methods.

If we observe such things further, we realize that the forces in a child with which we deal as teachers are the same that were previously engaged in building up the organism. We know, too, that those forces must now assume another form and that, if we are to teach children, we must come to know those forces in their new form. But we must also get to know them in their original form—since they must be used for learning, we must be able to recognize them in their original task. Well, a lot more could be said about this. I will only point out that it is because of those forces, working in the depths of the organism, creating life, that a child imitates up to the seventh year. To understand a preschool child, we must always bear in mind this faculty of imitation.

For example, parents complain that their son has stolen money. They are looking for advice. You ask how old the child is and are told that he is four or five years old. It might sound surprising, but a child of four or five does not really steal. Such a child is still at the stage of imitation. And so, if you ask further questions, you discover, for instance, that the child has seen his mother taking money out of a cupboard every day. The child imitates this action and, consequently, he too takes money. I have even known a case in which a child took money out of a cupboard but, instead of buying sweets, bought things to give to other children. There was nothing immoral in this behavior, only perhaps something somewhat amoral, something imitative.

An incident like this makes us realize that, in educating children, we are dealing with imponderables. As teachers, we must realize that, when we stand before a child who is an imitator, we must be mindful even of our thoughts. Not only our actions but our thoughts too must be of a kind that a child can safely imitate. The entire upbringing of preschool children must be based on this principle of imitation. Even if it might sound strange, awareness of this principle must lie at the foundation of a really healthy form of early education.

The forces that make a child an imitator to such an extent that it imitates even the slightest hand movement appear when the child is about seven as the liberated forces with which educators and teachers have to deal. Looking more closely at this development, one recognizes that, whereas a child is a compulsive imitator up to the age of seven, during the next seven years, up to puberty, the pupil needs to experience a natural sense of authority in the teacher as the right guide on life’s path. The experience of authority becomes the main educational principle for children between the change of teeth and puberty—a principle that develops naturally to become the basic relationship between teacher and pupil.

It is all too easy to speak abstractly about this relationship based upon a natural sense of authority. If we wish to guide it in the right direction at every moment of our teaching life, we need anthroposophical knowledge of the human being.

Today, many people speak about the necessity and the importance of visual instruction, practical demonstration, and so forth—and they are in a certain sense quite right to do so. It is certainly right for some subjects. Anything that can be outwardly observed can be brought to the child by these methods. But we must consider, above all, the moral order of the world and human religious feelings—that is, everything pertaining to the spiritual nature of the world. The spiritual is imperceptible to outer senses and if we take the so-called visual instruction method too far, we lead children into believing in only what is sense perceptible—that is, into materialism. What really matters at this age is that through the natural relationship to the teacher, the child feels, “This adult, who is my guide, knows what is right and behaves in a way I long to emulate.” (If I describe such a feeling as an adult, it is naturally quite different from how a child would experience it.)

During the first seven years, then, a child’s activities mirror and imitate its surroundings—above all through gestures, including the subtle inner gestures that live in speech. But, during the next seven years, children develop under the influence of the words that come from the naturally accepted authority of their teacher. In order to appreciate the importance and value of this natural sense of authority, one must have a thorough foundation in true knowledge of the human being.

You would hardly expect someone like myself who, many years ago, wrote a book called Intuitive Thinking as a Spiritual Path: A Philosophy of Freedom to support a reactionary social belief in authority. So it is not on the basis of any authoritarian intention but solely on educational grounds that I maintain that the most essential principle, the most important force in education, between the age of seven and puberty, lies in a pupil’s belief that the teacher, as an authority, knows what is right and does what is right. This must sink down into the child.

If students do not develop on the basis of this belief in the authority of the teacher, they will be unable, when older, to enter social life in a wholesome manner.

To understand this, we need only to know what it means for a child willingly to accept something on the basis of authority. I realize that this is for many people rather a controversial point but, actually, it is controversial only for those who, fundamentally speaking, lack the will to look at life in its entirety.

For instance, let us assume, say, that, in our second year of life nature did not dispose the form of our fingers so that they grow and develop—that nature made our fingers such that, as it were, they were cast in hard stereotyped forms. What would we do then! Insofar as we are human, then, we are growing, continuously changing beings. And as educators, likewise, this is the kind of essence that we must pour into children’s souls. We must not impose on our children anything that creates sharply contoured pictures, impressions, or will impulses in them. Just as our fingers do not retain the contours that they had when we were two but rather grow on their own, so all ideas, thoughts, and feelings that we pour into children during their school years must have the essence of growth in them.

We must be quite clear: what we bring to an eight-year-old cannot be clear-cut or sharply contoured. Rather, it must have an inner capacity for growth. By the time the person is forty, it will have become something quite different. We must be able to see the whole human being. Anyone who does not appreciate the principle of authority during these years of childhood has never experienced what it really means when, for instance, in the course of one’s thirty-fifth year, out of the dark recesses of memory, one understands some concept of history or geography—or some concept of life—that one accepted without understanding at the age of nine on the authority of a well loved teacher or parent, having taken it simply on faith. When such a concept emerges in the soul and is understood with the mature understanding of several decades later, this becomes an animating principle that calls up an indefinable feeling that need not be brought to full consciousness: something from one’s earliest years lives on in one’s soul. It is in this sense that we must be able to follow the forces of growth in nature.

Our educational principles and methods must not be tied up in fixed formulae. Rather, they must become a kind of refined, practical instinct for action in those who educate from a living knowledge of human beings. Teachers will then find the right way of dealing with children rather than merely artificially grafting something onto the souls in their care. This is not to deny what has been promulgated by the great pedagogues of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. On the contrary, it is actually applying it in the right way.

Those who wish to become Waldorf teachers know quite well that they cannot join the school as amateurs, as dilettantes. They must be moved by all that nineteenth- and twentieth century education has brought forth. But, at the same time, they must also bring to the Waldorf school the living insight into human beings of which I have spoken. Here one feels prompted to quote Goethe’s dictum, “Consider well the what, but consider more the how.” You will find excellent expositions of the what—with regard to foundations and principles—in theoretical texts on education. Even quite idealistic thoughts are sometimes expressed there, but all of this represents only the what. The point is not to formulate abstract principles but to be able to apply them in a living way, with inner soul warmth.

I am fully convinced that if a group of people were to sit together—they need not even be outstandingly clever—to draft the blueprint for an ideal school, their schemes, put into order of priorities—first, second, third, and so forth—would be quite excellent. They would be so convincing that one could not improve on them. It is quite possible to think out the grandest ideals and turn them into slogans for great movements of reform and so on. But, in life as it is, all of this is of little value. What matters is to truly observe life, to bear in mind the living human being who is capable of doing what needs to be done under given circumstances. “Consider well the what, but consider more the how.”

And so, what matters is that love of the child lies at the root of all of our educational endeavors, and that all teaching be done out of an inner, living experience. Against this background, the foundations of our education become quite other than they usually are. With this in mind, then, I would like to put into words a fundamental underlying principle, once more in the form of an example.

A child is supposed to form an inner picture of a definite concept. It is capable of doing so but, in our attempts to communicate something abstract—something of an ethical and religious nature—we can proceed in different ways. For example, let us imagine that the teacher wants to convey to pupils—naturally in accordance with the children’s age and maturity—the idea of the immortality of the human soul. We can do this with a comparison. There are two ways in which we can do this. One would be as follows. As teachers, we can believe that we are terribly clever, whereas the child is still young and terribly ignorant. On this basis, we could invent a comparison and say, “Look at the chrysalis. The butterfly comes out of the chrysalis.” Then, after describing this process pictorially, we might say, “Just as the butterfly emerges from its chrysalis, so the human soul, when a person passes through the portal of death, leaves the body and flies into the spiritual world.” This is one way of approaching the problem. Feeling greatly superior to the child, we think out a simile or comparison. But, if this is our underlying attitude, we will not be very successful. Indeed, this is a situation where imponderables play their part. For a teacher who has been schooled in anthroposophical spiritual science about the nature of the world and knows that there is spirit in all matter will not proceed from a feeling of being far more clever than the child. Consequently, he or she will not invent something for the child’s benefit. That is to say in this case the teacher will firmly believe that what on a higher level represents the human soul leaving the body at death is represented in the natural order on a lower level by the emergence of the butterfly from the chrysalis. The teacher will believe in the truth of this picture. To this teacher, the image is a sacred revelation. These are two entirely different approaches. If I speak to the child out of a sacred conviction, I touch the child’s innermost being in an imponderable way. I call forth in the child a living feeling, a living concept. This approach is generally true. We must neither underestimate nor overestimate what modern science has to say out of its exclusive interest in the external world.

Allow me to quote a somewhat far-fetched example to consolidate what I have been saying. As you know, there has been a great deal of talk about so-called “counting horses.” Those horses perform quite special feats. I myself have not seen the Elberfeld horses, but I did see Herr von Osten’s horse and witnessed how this horse, when questioned, stamped out the answers to simple arithmetical questions with one of its hooves. The horse stamped the correct number of times—one, two, three, four, five, six, and so on. In order to explain such a phenomenon and avoid falling into nebulous mysticism or mere rationalism, we need a certain ability to observe. Now, among the spectators of the counting horses was a certain private tutor in psychology and physiology who, having seen Herr von Osten’s horse performing its tricks, declared that the horse stamped when a specific number was called out because it was able to detect very subtle and refined expressions in Herr von Osten’s face. He claimed that when his master moved his face in a certain way after asking, “What are three times three?” the horse stopped stamping after nine stamps. Naturally, this learned gentleman had to prove that such looks or movements really existed in Herr von Osten’s face. But this he was unable to do. In his learned dissertation, he stated, “These looks are so subtle and infinitesimal that a human being cannot detect them, and even I myself”—he added—“am unable to say anything about them.” You see that all of his cleverness amounted to admitting his own lack of being able to discover the facial expressions that the horse was supposed to follow. In other words, the horse was more perceptive than this learned lecturer! A less biased spectator would have noticed that, while the horse stamped answers to arithmetical questions, Herr von Osten continually fed his horse with sugar lumps which he took from his rather capacious coat pocket. While apparently performing calculations, the horse was constantly relishing the sweet taste of the sugar lumps. I must ask you not to misunderstand me if I say that this way of treating the horse gave rise to a very specific form of a loving and intimate relationship, an inner relationship, and that this is really what was the root-cause of what was happening.

If one wants to discover this true relationship existing below the level of ordinary observation, one must begin with what the effect of such “love” can be. If one wants to understand such things properly, it is no good talking of hypnotism or suggestion in a general way, but one must understand the nature of such a subtle relationship. Neither nebulous mysticism nor mere rationalism will lead to one’s solving the mystery, but only a knowledge of the human, and in this case also the animal, soul.

This is what matters above all if we wish to found a living method of education, as distinct from one based on mere principles and intellectual theories. This living method of education then guides us to observe the child from year to year. It is this How, this individual treatment of each child even within a larger class, that matters. It is possible to achieve it. The Waldorf school has already demonstrated this fact during the first few years of its existence.

Here I can only give broad outlines, which can be supplemented by more detailed examples. First of all, we receive the child into our first grade, where it is supposed to learn writing and reading, perhaps also the beginnings of arithmetic and so on. Let us first discuss reading. Reading in our present culture is really quite alien to a young child. If we go back to ancient times, we find that a kind of picture writing existed in which each letter word still retained a pictorial connection with the object it represented. In our present system of writing or printing, there is nothing to link the child’s soul to what is written. For this reason, we should not begin by immediately teaching children writing when they enter primary school in their sixth or seventh year. In the Waldorf school, all teaching—and this includes writing, which we introduce before reading—appeals directly to a child’s innate artistic sense. Right from the start, we give our young pupils the opportunity of working artistically with colors, not only with dry crayons but also with water colors. In this simple way, we give the child something from which the forms of the letters can be developed. Such things have been done elsewhere, of course. But it is again a matter of how. The main thing is that we allow the child to be active without in any way engaging the forces of the intellect but by primarily activating the will. On the basis of drawing and painting, we gradually lead a child’s first will activities in writing toward a more intellectual understanding of what is written. We lead our children, step by step, developing everything in harmony with their own inherent natures. Even down to the arrangement of the curriculum, everything that we do at school must be adapted to the child’s evolving nature. But, for this, anthroposophical knowledge of human beings is necessary.

I would here like to point out how one can observe the harm done to children when one does not give them concepts and feelings capable of growth, but makes them aware of the difference between the outer material world of fixed forms and their own inner mobile soul life at too early an age. Until about the ninth year, a child does not yet clearly discriminate between him- or herself and the outer world. One must be careful not to believe in abstract concepts, as some people do today who say, “Well, of course, if a young child bumps into the corner of a table, it smacks the table because it thinks that the table is also a living thing.” This, of course, is nonsense. The child does not think that the table is a living object. It treats the table as if it were a child, too, simply because it cannot yet distinguish its own self from the table. Whether the table lives or not is beside the point. The child, as yet, has no such concept. We must always deal with realities, not with what we ourselves imagine intellectually. Until the ninth year, whatever we introduce to a child must be treated as if it had purely human qualities. It must be based on the assumption that the children’s relationship to the world is such that every thing is a part of them—as if it were a part of their own organism. One can, of course, point to certain obvious examples where a child will differentiate between something in the external world and its own being. But, between the seventh and ninth years, we cannot further the finer aspects of education unless we bring to life whatever we teach the child, unless we make everything into a parable, not in a dead, but a truly living form. Everything must be taught in mobile and colorful pictures, not in dead static concepts.

Between the ninth and tenth years, a most important, significant moment occurs: it is only then that children really become conscious of the difference between their inner selves and their surroundings. This is the age when we can first intellectually introduce children to the life of plants and animals, both of whom have an existence apart from human beings. Something truly profound is taking place in a child’s mind and soul at this time—a little earlier in the case of some children, a little later in others. Something is happening—fundamental changes are occurring—in the depths of their young souls; namely, they are learning to distinguish their inner selves from the outer world in a feeling way, but not yet by means of concepts. Therefore if teachers are aware of the right moment, and can find the appropriate words, they can—acting as the situation demands—do something of lasting value and importance for the whole life of these children aged between nine and ten. On the other hand, if they miss this significant moment, they can create an inner barrenness of soul or spiritual aridity in later life, and an attitude of everlasting doubt and inner dissatisfaction. But, if teachers are sufficiently alert to catch such a significant moment and if, by immersing themselves in the child’s being, they have the necessary empathy and know how to speak the right words and how to conduct themselves rightly, they can perform an immense service for their children, who will derive benefit for the rest of their lives. In Waldorf education, the observation of such key moments in the lives of children is considered to be of utmost importance.

After this special moment in the ninth-tenth year, while all subjects had previously to be “humanized,” teachers can begin to introduce simple descriptions of plants and animals in a more objective style. Then, between the eleventh and twelfth years, they can begin to introduce inorganic subjects, such as the study of minerals and physics. Certainly the lifeless world should be approached only after children have been fully immersed in the living world.

Thus the child is led—I mention only a few characteristic examples—to the age when school normally comes to an end, to the age of puberty.

How many countless discussions and arguments are going on these days about puberty from a psychoanalytical and from a psychological point of view! The main thing is to recognize that one is dealing here with the end of a characteristic life period—just as second dentition represented the end of an earlier period of development. Puberty in itself is only a link in an entire chain of metamorphoses embracing the whole of human life. What happened in the child at second dentition is that inner soul forces became liberated that had previously been working within the organism. Between the seventh and approximately fourteenth years, we try to guide the child in the ways I just described. With the onset of puberty, however, children enter the time of life when they can form their own judgments on matters concerning the world at large. Whereas, when younger, our children drew their inner being from the depths of their organism, as adolescents they now become capable of understanding the spiritual nature of the outer world as such. How to educate our children between their seventh and fourteenth years so that they are naturally guided to acquire an independent and individual relationship to the world—of which sexual life is only one expression—presents one of the greatest challenges to teachers. This is one of the most important problems of a truly living education. The sexual love of one person for another is only one aspect, one part of the whole fabric of human social life.

We must lead our adolescents to the point where they develop the inner maturity necessary to follow outer events in the world with caring interest. Otherwise, they will pass them by unheeded. As teachers, we must aim at turning our young human beings into social beings by the time of puberty. We must also try to cultivate in them religious feelings, not in a bigoted or sectarian way, but in the sense that they acquire the seriousness necessary to recognize that the physical world is everywhere permeated by spirit. They should not feel inwardly satisfied with merely observing the outer sense world but should be able to perceive the spiritual foundations of the world everywhere.

During prepubescence, when pupils open their inner being to us, believing in our authority, we must be what amounts to the whole world for them. If they find a world in us as their teachers, then they receive the right preparation to become reverent, social people in the world. We release them from our authority, which gave them a world, into the wide world itself.

Here, in only a few words, I touch on one of the most important problems of cognition. If we train children to make their own judgments too early, we expose them to forces of death instead of giving them forces of life. Only teachers whose natural authority awakens the belief that what they say and do is the right thing, and who in the eyes of the child become representatives of the world, will prepare their pupils to grow into really living human beings when, later on, they enter life. Such teachers prepare their pupils not by controlling their intellect or their capacity to form judgments but by setting the right example as living human beings. Life can evolve only with life. We make our students into proper citizens of the world by presenting the world to them in a human being—the teacher—not through abstract intellectual concepts.

I can characterize all of this in a few sentences, but what I am suggesting presupposes an ability to follow in detail how growing children evolve from day to day. By the power of his or her example, the way in which a teacher carries something through the door into the classroom already helps a child to develop further toward finding its own way in life. If we know this, we need not make amateurish statements, such as that all learning should be fun. Many people say this today. Try to see how far you get with such an abstract principle! In many respects learning cannot bring only joy to the child. The right way is to educate children by bringing enough life into the various subjects that they retain a curiosity for knowledge, even if it does not reward them immediately with pleasure. How a teacher proceeds should be a preparation for what pupils must learn from them.

This leads quite naturally to cultivation of the pupils’ sense of duty. We touch here upon a sphere that extends far beyond what belongs to the field of education. We touch on something where a method and practice of education based on spiritual foundations directly fructifies the whole of cultural life.

We all of us surely look up to Schiller and Goethe as leading spirits. To have studied and written about them for more than forty years, as I have, leaves one in no doubt as to one’s full, warm appreciation of their work and gifts. There is, however, just one point that I would like to make in this context.

When, in the 1790s, Schiller, having distanced himself from Goethe for all kinds of personal reasons renewed an intimate friendship with him, he wrote his famous—and sadly too little appreciated—Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man. Schiller wrote these letters under the influence of how Goethe worked, thought, and viewed the world. In those letters, which are about aesthetic education, we find a strange sentence: “Only when we play are we fully human, and we play only when we are human in the truest sense of the word.” With that sentence, Schiller wanted to point out how ordinary life essentially chains us into a kind of slavery, how the average person, forced to live under the yoke of necessity, suffers under the burden of outer life. In general, people are free to follow their own impulses only when engaged in artistic activities, when creating and enjoying art, or when behaving like children at play, acting only in accordance with their own impulses. What Schiller describes in his aesthetic letters is a beautiful and genuine conception of what it is to be human.

On the other hand, the letters show that with the advance of our modern scientific, technological civilization and for the sake of human dignity, exceptional persons like Schiller and Goethe found it necessary to demand that human beings should be allowed freedom from the daily round of duties. To become fully human, people should be relieved of the coercion of work so that they can be free to play. If we bear in mind the social conditions imposed on us by the twentieth century, we realize that we have completely changed our attitude toward life. Realizing that everyone must accept the demands of life, we feel that we carry an intolerable burden of responsibility upon our shoulders.

We must learn how to make life worthwhile again, from both the social and individual points of view, not only by introducing more play but by taking up our tasks in a more human way. This is the reason why the social question is today first of all a question of education. We must teach young people to work in the right way. The concept of duty must be brought into school, not by preaching, but in the right and natural way—which can be achieved only through a thorough, well grounded, and correct knowledge of human nature.

If we do so, we shall be founding schools for work, not schools following the attitude that teaching and learning are merely be a kind of “playing about.” In our school, where authority plays its proper part, pupils are expected not to shy away from the most demanding tasks. In Waldorf schools, students are encouraged to tackle whole heartedly whatever is to be mastered. They are not to be allowed to do whatever they feel like doing.

It is with this in view that the Waldorf school has been founded. Children are to learn to work in the right way; they are to be introduced to life in the world in the full human sense. This demands work for social reasons and also that, as human beings, the students should learn to face one another and, above all, themselves in the right way. For this reason, apart from conventional gymnastics, which originally evolved from human physiology and hence has its values, we have also introduced eurythmy—a new art of movement, cultivating body, soul and spirit; a visible form of language and music—into the Waldorf school.

You can find out more about eurythmy in Dornach. Just as there are speech and music that you can hear, so there also is a kind of language and music that uses the medium of gestures and movements evolved from the organization of the human body, but not as is done in dance or mime. It can be performed by groups of people who express in this new way the kind of content that is usually expressed through audible speech and music. Since its introduction in the Waldorf school some two years ago, we have already been able to observe that pupils from the lowest to the highest grades take to eurythmy lessons with the same natural ease with which little children take to speaking, provided that the lessons are given properly, in a way suited to each age group.

Once, during an introductory talk before a eurythmy performance in Dornach, I spoke about eurythmy to an audience that happened to include one of the most famous physiologists of our times (you would be surprised if you heard his name). After saying that we had no wish to denigrate the value of gym in schools, but that the time would come when such matters would be judged with less prejudice and that eurythmy, with its movements involving a person’s soul and spirit, would then come into its own, the famous physiologist approached me and said, “You said that gymnastics has its own beneficial value in modern education and that it is based on human physiology. As a physiologist, I consider gymnastics to be sheer barbarism!” It was not I who expressed this view, it was one of the best-known physiologists of our times!

Such an incident can lead us to appreciate the saying: “Consider well the what, but consider more the how.” There are occasions when, reading books on educational theory and applied teaching, one feels like shouting for joy. What the great educationalists have achieved! But what matters is the right how. One has to find ways and means of implementing the ideas into practical life in the right way.

Every Waldorf teacher must seek this anew each day, for anything that is alive must be founded on life. Spiritual science eventually leads each one of us to an understanding of fundamental truths that, although they are always the same, nevertheless inspire us ever anew. Regarding our ordinary knowledge based on material things, we depend on our memory. What has been absorbed is remembered, to be recalled later from the store of memory. What we have once learned, we possess; it is closely linked to us. In everyday life, we certainly need our store of memory. Our intellect depends on memory, but living processes do not need memory—not even on the lower levels of our existence. Just imagine for a moment that you thought that what you ate once as a small child sufficed for the rest of your life. You have to eat anew every day because eating is a part of a living process and what has been taken up by the organism must be thoroughly digested and transformed. Spiritual substance likewise must be taken up in a living way and an educational method based on anthroposophy must work out of this living process.

This is what I wanted to describe to you in brief outline, merely indicating here what has been described in further detail in anthroposophical books, particularly those dealing with education. I wanted to draw your attention to the educational principles of the Waldorf school, a pioneering school founded by our friend Emil Molt, a school that has no desire to rebel against contemporary education. It seeks only to put into practice what has often been suggested theoretically. Anyone who surveys the kind of life which humanity, particularly in Europe, lives today will recognize the need to deepen many aspects of life. During the second decade of this twentieth century, following the terrible catastrophe that destroyed most of what was best in humanity, one must admit the importance of giving the coming generations soul-spiritual and physical-bodily qualities different from those received by our contemporaries who have had to pay so dearly in human life. Those who, as parents, must care for the well-being of their sons and daughters and who, most of all, have the right to see how education relates to life, will view our efforts without prejudice. Those among them who, as parents, have experienced the great catastrophes of our times, will doubtlessly welcome every attempt that, based on deeper social and spiritual awareness, promises the coming generations something better than what has been offered to many at the present time. The people who have most reason to hope for an improvement of conditions prevailing in contemporary education are the parents and they, above all, have the right to expect and demand something better from the teachers. This was the thinking and the ideal that inspired us when we tried to lay the educational foundations of the Waldorf school.

FROM THE DISCUSSION

QUESTIONER:
Dr. Steiner has spoken to us about the importance of authority in education, but this is something with which our young people want nothing to do. Every teacher, not to mention every priest, experiences it. Various currents run through our younger generation and one can certainly notice an aloofness on their part toward anything connected with the question of authority, be the authority in the parental home or authority regarding spiritual matters. Parents sometimes have the feeling that they no longer have any say in anything and that one must simply let these young people go their own way. On the other hand, one sometimes also witnesses the disillusionment of such an attitude and it is then painful to see young people not finding what they were seeking. There is something in the air that simply seems to forbid a respectful attitude toward older people, something that is like a deep-seated sting, ever ready to strike against authority in whatever form. Perhaps Dr. Steiner would be kind enough to tell us something about the reasons for this strange ferment among the younger generation. Why are they not happy? Why do they take special pleasure in complaining? It saddens us that we are no longer able to reach them. I have sought help by studying books dealing with this problem, but I have so far not found a single one that could show me the way forward. I would therefore be very happy if Dr. Steiner could say something to give us insight into the soul of a young person.

RUDOLF STEINER:
This is, of course, a subject that, unfortunately, were I were to deal with it in any depth, would require a whole lecture of at least the same length as the one I have just given you—I say unfortunately because you would have to listen to me for such a long time! I would, however, like to say at least a few words in response to the previous speaker’s remarks.

During my life, which by now can no longer be described as short, I have tried to follow up various life situations related to this question. On one hand, I have really experienced what it means to hear, in one’s childhood, a great deal of talk about a highly esteemed and respected relative whom one had not yet met in person. I have known what it is to become thoroughly familiar with the reverence toward such a person that is shared by all members of the household, by one’s parents as well as by others connected with one’s upbringing. I have experienced what it means to be led for the first time to the room of such a person, to hold the door handle in my hand, feeling full of awe and reverence. To have undergone such an experience is of lasting importance for the whole of one’s life. There can be no genuine feeling for freedom, consistent with human dignity, that does not have its roots in the experience of reverence and veneration such as one can feel deeply in one’s childhood days.

On the other hand, I have also witnessed something rather different. In Berlin, I made the acquaintance of a well-known woman socialist, who often made public speeches. One day I read, in an otherwise quite respectable newspaper, an article of hers entitled, “The Revolution of our Children.” In it, in true socialist style, she developed the theme of how, after the older generation had fought—or at least talked about—the revolution, it was now the children’s turn to act. It was not even clear whether children of preschool age were to be included in that revolution. This is a different example of how the question of authority has been dealt with during the last decades.

As a third example, I would like to quote a proposal, made in all seriousness by an educationalist who recommended that a special book be kept at school in which at the end of each week—it may have been at the end of each month—the pupils were to enter what they thought about their teachers. The idea behind this proposal was to prepare them for a time in the near future when teachers would no longer give report “marks” to their pupils but pupils would give grades to their teachers.

None of these examples can be judged rightly unless they are seen against the background of life as a whole. This will perhaps appear paradoxical to you, but I do believe that this whole question can be answered only within a wider context. As a consequence of our otherwise magnificent scientific and technical culture—which, in keeping with its own character, is bound to foster the intellect—the human soul has gradually become less and less permeated by living spirit. Today, when people imagine what the spirit is like, they usually reach only concepts and ideas about it. Those are only mental images of something vaguely spiritual. This, at any rate, is how the most influential philosophers of our time speak about the spiritual worlds as they elaborate their conceptual theories of education. This “conceptuality” is, of course, the very thing that anthroposophical spiritual science seeks to overcome. Spiritual science does not want its adherents merely to talk about the spirit or to bring it down into concepts and ideas; it wants human beings to imbue themselves with living spirit. If this actually happens to people, they very soon begin to realize that we have gradually lost touch with the living spirit. They recognize that it is essential that we find our way back to the living spirit. So-called intellectually enlightened people in particular have lost the inner experience of living spirit. At best, they turn into agnostics, who maintain that natural science can reach only a certain level of knowledge and that that level represents the ultimate limit of what can in fact be known. The fact that the real struggle for knowledge only begins at this point, and that it leads to a living experience of the spiritual world—of this, generally speaking, our educated society has very little awareness.

And what was the result, or rather what was the cause, of our having lost the spirit in our spoken words? Today, you will find that what you read in innumerable articles and books basically consists of words spilling more or less automatically from the human soul. If one is open-minded and conversant with the current situation, one often needs to read no more than the first few lines or pages of an article or book in order to know what the author is thinking about the various points in question. The rest follows almost automatically out of the words themselves. Once the spirit has gone out of life, the result is an empty phrase-bound, cliché-ridden language, and this is what so often happens in today’s cultural life. When people speak about cultural or spiritual matters or when they wish to participate in the cultural spiritual sphere of life, it is often no longer the living spirit that speaks through their being. It is clichés that dominate their language. This is true not only of how individuals express themselves. We find it above all in our “glorious” state education. Only think for a moment of how little of real substance is to be found in one or another political party that offers the most persuasive slogans or “party-phrases.” People become intoxicated by these clichés. Slogans might to some degree satisfy the intellect, but party phrases will not grasp real life. And so it must be said that what we find when we reach the heights of agnosticism—which has already penetrated deeply into our society—is richly saturated with empty phrases. Living so closely with such clichés, we no longer feel a need for what is truly living in language. Words no longer rise from profound enough depths of the human soul. Change will occur only if we permeate ourselves with the spirit once more. Two weeks ago, I wrote an article for The Goetheanum under the heading, “Spiritual Life Is Buried Alive.” In it, I drew attention to the sublime quality of the writing that can still be found among authors who wrote around the middle of the nineteenth century. Only very few people are aware of this. I showed several people some of these books that looked as if they had been read almost continually for about a decade, after which they seemed to have been consigned to dust. Full of surprise, they asked me, “Where did you find those books?” I explained that I am in the habit, now and then, of poring over old books in second-hand bookshops. In those bookshops, I consult the appropriate catalogs and ask for certain chosen books to be delivered to wherever I am staying. In that way I manage to find totally forgotten books of all kinds, books that will never be reprinted but that give clear evidence of how the spirit has been “buried alive” in our times, at least to a certain extent.

Natural science is protected from falling into such clichés simply because of its close ties to experimentation and observation. When making experiments, one is dealing with actual spiritual facts that have their place in the general ordering of natural laws. But, excepting science, we have been gradually sliding into a life heavily influenced by clichés and phrases, by-products of the overspecialization of the scientific, technological development of our times. Apart from many other unhappy circumstances of our age, it is to living in such a phrase-ridden, clichéd language that we must attribute the problem raised by the previous speaker. For a child’s relationship to an adult is an altogether imponderable one. The phrase might well flourish in adult conversations, and particularly so in party-political meetings, but if one speaks to children in mere phrases, clichés, they cannot make anything of them. And what happens when we speak in clichés—no matter whether the subject is religious, scientific, or unconventionally open-minded? The child’s soul does not receive the necessary sustenance, for empty phrases cannot offer proper nourishment to the soul. This, in turn, lets loose the lower instincts. You can see it happening in the social life of Eastern Europe, where, through Leninism and Trotskyism, an attempt was made to establish the rule of the phrase. This, of course, can never work creatively and in Soviet Russia, therefore, the worst instincts have risen from the lower regions. For the same reason, instincts have risen up and come to the fore in our own younger generation. Such instincts are not even unhealthy in every respect, but they show that the older generation has been unable to endow language with the necessary soul qualities. Basically, the problems presented by our young are consequences of problems within the adult world; at least when regarded in a certain light, they are parents’ problems. When meeting the young, we create all too easily an impression of being frightfully clever, making them feel frightfully stupid, whereas those who are able to learn from children are mostly the wisest people. If one does not approach the young with empty phrases, one meets them in a totally different way. The relationship between the younger generation and the adult world reflects our not having given it sufficient warmth of soul. This has contributed to their present character. That we must not blame everything that has gone wrong entirely on the younger generation becomes clearly evident, dear friends, by their response to what is being done for our young people in the Waldorf school, even during the short time of its existence.

As you have seen already, Waldorf education is primarily a question of finding the right teachers. I must confess that whenever I come to Stuttgart to visit and assist in the guidance of the Waldorf school—which unfortunately happens only seldom—I ask the same question in each class, naturally within the appropriate context and avoiding any possible tedium, “Children, do you love your teachers?” You should hear and witness the enthusiasm with which they call out in chorus, “Yes!” This call to the teachers to engender love within their pupils is all part of the question of how the older generation should relate to the young. In this context, it seems appropriate to mention that we decided from the beginning to open a complete primary school, comprising all eight classes in order to cover the entire age range of an elementary school. And sometimes, when entering the school building, one could feel quite alarmed at the apparent lack of discipline, especially during break times. Those who jump to judgment too quickly said, “You see what a free Waldorf school is like! The pupils lose all sense of discipline.” What they did not realize was that the pupils who had come to us from other schools had been brought up under so-called “iron discipline.” Actually, they have already calmed down considerably but, when they first arrived under the influence of their previous “iron discipline,” they were real scamps. The only ones who were moderately well-behaved were the first graders who had come directly from their parental homes—and even then, this was not always the case. Nevertheless, whenever I visit the Waldorf school, I notice a distinct improvement in discipline. And now, after a little more than two years of existence, one can see a great change. Our pupils certainly won’t turn into “apple-polishers” but they know that, if something goes wrong, they can always approach their teachers and trust them to enter into the matter sympathetically. This makes the pupils ready to confide. They may be noisy and full of boisterous energy—they certainly are not inhibited—but they are changing, and what can be expected in matters of discipline is gradually evolving. What I called in my lecture a natural sense of authority is also steadily growing.

For example, it is truly reassuring to hear the following report. A pupil entered the Waldorf school. He was already fourteen years old and was therefore placed into our top class. When he arrived, he was a thoroughly discontented boy who had lost all faith in his previous school. Obviously, a new school cannot offer a panacea to such a boy in the first few days. The Waldorf school must be viewed as a whole—if you were to cut a small piece from a painting, you could hardly give a sound judgment on the whole painting. There are people, for instance, who believe that they know all about the Waldorf school after having visited it for only one or two days. This is nonsense. One cannot become fully acquainted with the methods of anthroposophy merely by sampling a few of them. One must experience the spirit pervading the whole work. And so it was for the disgruntled boy who entered our school so late in the day. Naturally, what he encountered there during the first few days could hardly give him the inner peace and satisfaction for which he was hoping. After some time, however, he approached his history teacher, who had made a deep impression on him. The boy wanted to speak with this teacher, to whom he felt he could open his heart and tell of his troubles. This conversation brought about a complete change in the boy. Such a thing is only possible through the inner sense of authority of which I have spoken. These things become clear when this matter-of-fact authority has arisen by virtue of the quality of the teachers and their teaching. I don’t think that I am being premature in saying that the young people who are now passing through the Waldorf school are hardly likely to exhibit the spirit of non-cooperation with the older generation of which the previous speaker spoke. It is really up to the teachers to play their parts in directing the negative aspects of the “storm and stress” fermenting in our youth into the right channels.

In the Waldorf school, we hold regular teacher meetings that differ substantially from those in other schools. During those meetings, each child is considered in turn and is discussed from a psychological point of view. All of us have learned a very great deal during these two years of practicing Waldorf pedagogy. This way of educating the young has truly grown into one organic whole.

We would not have been able to found our Waldorf school if we had not been prepared to make certain compromises. Right at the beginning, I drafted a memorandum that was sent to the education authorities. In it, we pledged to bring our pupils in their ninth year up to the generally accepted standards of learning, thus enabling them to enter another school if they so desired. The same generally accepted levels of achievement were to be reached in their twelfth and again in their fourteenth year. But, regarding our methods of teaching, we requested full freedom for the intervening years. This does constitute a compromise, but one must work within the given situation. It gave us the possibility of putting into practice what we considered to be essential for a healthy and right way of teaching. As an example, consider the case of school reports. From my childhood reports I recall certain phrases, such as “almost praiseworthy,” “hardly satisfactory” and so on. But I never succeeded in discovering the wisdom behind my teachers’ distinction of a “hardly satisfactory” from an “almost satisfactory” mark. You must bear with me, but this is exactly how it was. In the Waldorf school, instead of such stereotyped phrases or numerical marks, we write reports in which teachers express in their own style how each pupil has fared during the year. Our reports do not contain abstract remarks that must seem like mere empty phrases to the child. For, if something makes no sense, it is a mere phrase. As each child gradually grows up into life, the teachers write in their school reports what each pupil needs to know about him- or herself. Each report thus contains its own individual message, representing a kind of biography of the pupil’s life at school during the previous school year. Furthermore, we end our reports with a little verse, specially composed for each child, epitomizing the year’s progress. Naturally, writing this kind of report demands a great deal of time. But the child receives a kind of mirror of itself. So far, I have not come across a single student who did not show genuine interest in his or her report, even if it contained some real home truths. Especially the aptly chosen verse at the end is something that can become of real educational value to the child. One must make use of all means possible to call forth in the children the feeling that their guides and educators have taken the task of writing these reports very seriously, and that they have done so not in a onesided manner, but from a direct and genuine interest in their charges. A great deal depends on our freeing ourselves from the cliché-ridden cultivation of the phrase so characteristic of our times, and on our showing the right kind of understanding for the younger generation. I am well aware that this is also connected with psychological predispositions of a more national character, and to gain mastery over these is an even more difficult task.

It might surprise you to hear that in none of the various anthroposophical conferences that we have held during the past few months was there any lack of younger members. They were always there and I never minced my words when speaking to them. But they soon realized that I was not addressing them with clichés or empty phrases. Even if they heard something very different from what they had expected, they could feel that what I said came straight from the heart, as all words of real value do. During our last conference in Stuttgart in particular, a number of young persons representing the youth movement were again present and, after a conversation with them lasting some one-and-a-half or two hours, it was unanimously decided to actually found an anthroposophical youth group, and this despite the fact that young people do not usually value anything even vaguely connected with authority, for they believe that everything has to grow from within, out of themselves, a principle that they were certainly not prepared to abandon.

What really matters is how the adults meet the young, how they approach them. From experience—many times confirmed—I can only point out that this whole question of the younger generation is often a question of the older generation. As such, it can perhaps be best answered by looking a little less at the younger generation and looking a little more deeply into ourselves.

A PERSON FROM THE AUDIENCE:
Perhaps, at this point, a member of the younger generation might be allowed to speak up. Please forgive my speaking plainly, but the truth is that we younger people have lost all respect for authority, for older people. Why? because our parents, too, have lost it. When talking to them or to other adults, we find that all that they can do is to criticize all kinds of unimportant, niggling things in others—thus showing their own generation in a bad light. We young people sometimes feel that those who are trying to educate us have become walking compromises, incapable of making up their minds on which side they stand, unable to state from the fullness of their hearts what their opinions are, unable to stand up for what they believe in. And we all the time have the feeling that our parents and educators do not in fact want to learn what we young are really like. Instead, they keep criticizing and condemning us. I need only to think of how we in our youth circle work together and what kind of things we study. For instance, we have read and discussed together Blüchner and Morgenstern. Just imagine those two polar opposites! This sort of thing happens with us all the time. Events in the world buffet us and nowhere can we find a center to give us a firm grasp. Nowhere can we find a really living person who can stand above it all with a comprehensive viewpoint—not even a person who can do so conceptually. How is it possible to teach unless behind everything that is taught there is a real living human being, whom one can feel coming through his or her teaching? . . . If that were to happen, it would rouse our enthusiasm. But, as long as our teachers do not approach us as human beings, as long as they are afraid even, sometimes, to laugh at themselves, we simply cannot feel the necessary confidence in them. I can say with complete conviction that we young people are really seeking adults to whom we can look up as authorities. We are looking for a center, for a firm grip with which we can pull ourselves up and that would enable us to grow into the kind of life that has an inner reality. That is why we throw ourselves into everything new that appears on the horizon: we always hope to discover something that could have a real meaning for us. But whenever this happens, we find nothing but a confusion of opinions and attitudes. We find judgments that are not real judgments at all, but are at best only criticisms.

If I may say something to the first speaker, who asked for a book to explain why young people behave as they do, I say: Don’t read a book. To find an answer, read us young people! If you want to talk to the younger generation, you must approach them as living human beings. You must be ready to open yourself to them. Young people will then do the same and young and old will become clear about what each is looking for.

QUESTIONER:
As a teacher, I would like to ask Dr. Steiner whether he himself does not believe what the first speaker in today’s discussion brought up; namely, that a quite new mood and spirit are stirring among young people today. This might perhaps be more evident in the larger cities, where even teachers with a deeply human attitude are no longer able to cope with difficulties as they were able to some fifty years ago. The source of the problem has been rightly sought in the older generation. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that today’s youth, under the influence of social-democratic ideas, is pervaded by skepticism to the extent that a teacher of Dr. Steiner’s persuasion might not be able to imagine the kind of insolence and arrogance with which we have to put up. Socialistic contradictions are rife among the young, creating a false urge for independence in them that makes the teachers’ tasks far more difficult than they were some time ago. Indeed, our job is now often almost impossible. What Dr. Steiner said gave the impression that the behavior of our youth merely reflects the shortcomings of their teachers. Certainly, teachers must take their share of the blame, but is it all the teachers’ fault? Are all teachers to blame? That is the question. Is it not the case that the few good teachers, who are not to blame, nevertheless bluntly state that a new and different kind of youth has appeared and that lack of faith and skepticism among them makes the teacher’s task far more difficult?

RUDOLF STEINER:
Well, if you put the question in this way, it is impossible to move forward. Putting it thus will not produce anything fruitful. It is the wrong way to begin. To declare that young people have changed and that it might have been easier to deal with them fifty years ago is not the point at all; the crux of the matter is to find ways and means of coping with the problem. After all, the younger generation is there, growing up in our midst. Nor is it productive to speak of our youth as being led into skepticism by social-democratic prejudices. That is as futile as if one were to criticize something in nature because it was growing in an undesirable way—and that is what is happening with the young. They are growing up among us like products of nature. Rather than stating the fact that the young have changed, and that perhaps it was easier to deal with them fifty years ago, the only way forward is to find ways and means of enabling the older generation to cooperate with the young again. We shall find no answer if we merely point out that today’s youth is different from what it was fifty years ago, as if this were something to be accepted more or less fatalistically. That kind of attitude will never lead us to find an answer to this problem. Of course, the young have changed! And, if we observe life, we can see that the change has its positive aspects, too—that we could speak of it as a change toward something greater. Let me remind you, for instance, of the generational conflicts that we find expressed in literature. You can read them or see them performed on the stage. You still sometimes come across performances of plays from the late 1880s when the relationship between the younger and older generation was vividly portrayed. You will see that what we are discussing is an age-old problem. It has been regarded for centuries as a kind of catastrophe. By comparison, what is happening today is mere child’s play! But, as I said before, merely to state facts will not lead us further.

The question everywhere is how to regain the lost respect for authority in individual human beings that will enable you as teachers and educators to find the right relationship to the young. That it is generally correct to state that young people do not find the necessary conditions for such a respect and sense of authority in the older generation and that they find among its members an attitude of compromise is in itself, in my opinion, no evidence against what I have said. This striving for compromise can be found on a much wider scale even in world events, so that the question of how to regain respect for human authority and dignity could be extended to a worldwide level. I would like to add that—of course—I realize that there exist good and devoted teachers as described by the last speaker. But the pupils usually behave differently when taught by those good teachers. If one discriminates, one can observe that the young respond quite differently in their company.

We must not let ourselves be led into an attitude of complaining and doubting by judgments that are too strongly colored by our own hypotheses, but must be clear that ultimately the way in which the younger generation behaves is, in general, conditioned by the older generation. My observations were not meant to imply that teachers were to be held solely responsible for the faults of the young. At this point, I feel rather tempted to point to how lack of respect for authority is revealed in its worst light when we look at some of the events of recent history. Only remember certain moments during the last, catastrophic war. There was a need to replace older, leading personalities. What kind of person was chosen? In France, Clemenceau, in Germany, Hertling—all old men of the most ancient kind who carried a certain authority only because they had once been important personalities. But they were no longer the kind of person who could take his or her stance from a direct grasp of the then current situation. And what is happening now? Only recently the prime ministers of three leading countries found their positions seriously jeopardized. Yet all three are still in office, simply because no other candidate could be found who carried sufficient weight of authority! That was the only reason for their survival as prime ministers. And so we find that, in important world happenings, too, a general sense of authority has been undermined, even in leading figures. You can hardly blame the younger generation for that! But these symptoms have a shattering effect on the young who witness them.

We really have to tackle this whole question at a deeper level and, above all, in a more positive light. We must be clear that, instead of complaining about the ways in which the young confront their elders, we should be thinking of how we can improve our own attitude toward young. To continue telling them how wrong they are and that it is no longer possible to cooperate with them can never lead to progress. In order to work toward a more fruitful future, we must look for what the spiritual cultural sphere, and life in general, can offer to help us regain respect and trust in the older generation. Those who know the young know that they are only too happy when they can have faith in their elders again. This is really true. Their skepticism ceases as soon as they can find something of real value, something in which they can believe. Generally speaking, we cannot yet say that life is ruled by what is right. But, if we offer our youth something true, they will feel attracted to it. If we no longer believe this to be the case, if all that we do is moan and groan about youth’s failings, then we shall achieve nothing at all.

Die Pädagogische Grundlage Der Waldorfschule

Als in Stuttgart nach dem Zusammenbruche Deutschlands eine gewisse soziale Arbeit begann, die sich die Aufgabe stellte, aus den Wirrnissen heraus Zielen entgegenzuarbeiten, die eine gewisse Hoffnung auf die Zukunft gestatteten, da entstand aus den mancherlei sozialen Erwägungen und Maßnahmen heraus bei einem der ältesten Freunde der anthroposophischen Bewegung die Idee der Gründung der Waldorfschule in Stuttgart, bei unserem Freunde Herrn Emil Molt. Er hatte die Möglichkeit, sogleich nach der Entschlußfassung eine solche Schule wirklich ins Leben zu rufen, denn er stand einer industriellen Unternehmung mit einer zahlreichen Arbeiterschaft vor, und bei dem außerordentlich guten Einvernehmen zwischen der Direktion jenes Unternehmens und der Arbeiterschaft war es möglich, fast die gesamte Kinderzahl der Stuttgarter Waldorf-Astoria-Zigarettenfabrik in diese Schule hineinzubringen. Und so wurde denn vor jetzt mehr als zwei Jahren diese Waldorfschule gegründet, zunächst mit einer proletarischen Kinderschar.

Aber im Laufe der letzten zwei Jahre vergrößerte sich die Schule, man möchte sagen, von Monat zu Monat, und heute steht die Sache bereits so, daß wir in der Schule, deren Leitung mir anvertraut ist, nicht nur die ursprüngliche Zahl der proletarischen Kinder haben, sondern aus allen Ständen und allen Klassen Kinder zu unterrichten und zu erziehen haben. Heute betrifft allerdings die Zahl derjenigen, die von allen Seiten zugeströmt sind, schon mehr als der ursprüngliche Stamm der aus der Waldorf-Astoria-Fabrik entstammenden Proletarierkinder.

Die Waldorfschule ist damit in der Praxis als eine wirkliche Einheitsschule dastehend. Es sitzen eben in dieser Schule Kinder aller Bevölkerungsklassen nebeneinander und können auch nach den Methoden, die dort angewendet werden, nebeneinander unterrichtet werden.

Herausgewachsen der Idee nach ist nun diese Stuttgarter Waldorfschule aus der anthroposophischen Bewegung, aus jener Bewegung, welche heute von manchen Seiten so viel angefeindet wird, weil man sie mißversteht. Für die heutigen Zwecke will ich einleitungsweise von einem einzigen Mißverständnis sprechen. Das ist dasjenige, daß man immer glaubt, wenn von Anthroposophie und anthroposophischer Geisteswissenschaft die Rede ist und von all dem, was sich an sozialen Bewegungen daranschließt, es handle sich um irgend etwas Umstürzlerisches oder dergleichen, während das alles nicht der Fall ist. Das hebe ich aus dem Grunde einleitungsweise hier hervor, weil es für mein pädagogisches Thema von heute von ganz besonderer Bedeutung ist. Geradeso wie zum Beispiel mit Bezug auf die verschiedenen Wissenschaften, welche aus dem modernen Geistesleben im Laufe der letzten drei bis vier Jahrhunderte herauswuchsen, anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft auf alle diese einzelnen Wissenschaften bis in die Medizin hinein befruchtend wirken will, Anregungen nach allen Seiten geben will, will sie aber durchaus nicht in irgendeinen Gegensatz zu diesen modernen Wissenschaften treten. Sie will durchaus nicht von irgendeiner Seite her einen Dilettantismus in den modernen Wissenschaftsbetrieb hineinbringen, sondern gerade dasjenige, was aus den eigenen Voraussetzungen dieser modernen Wissenschaftlichkeit selber folgt, nur aber von dieser Wissenschaft selbst nicht angestrebt wird, das will sie, vertiefend diese Wissenschaften und erweiternd in diese Wissenschaften hineintragen.

Ebensowenig stellt sich dasjenige, was als eine pädagogische Konsequenz sich aus anthroposophischer Geisteswissenschaft ergibt, nun in irgendeine Opposition oder in ein dilettantisches Verhältnis zu dem, was durch die Pädagogik der neueren Zeit und ihre großen Vertreter angestrebt worden ist. Gerade anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft hat, so wie sie moderne Naturwissenschaft würdigt, auch allen Grund, in ausgiebigstem Maße anzuerkennen dasjenige, was an Ausgezeichnetem in die Welt gebracht worden ist durch die großen hervorragenden Pädagogen und pädagogischen Bestrebungen des 19. Jahrhunderts und des Beginnes des 20. Jahrhunderts. Sie will nicht in einen Gegensatz zu alledem treten, sondern sie will aus dem heraus, was sie auf anthroposophischem Boden erforschen und finden kann, vertiefend und erweiternd wirken, sie will sich auch ganz auf den Boden moderner pädagogischer Denkweise stellen. Nur findet sie, daß gerade dieser modernen pädagogischen Denkweise die Vertiefung und Erweiterung notwendig ist, von der ich mich bemühen werde, heute Abend in einigen kurzen Strichen einiges zu zeichnen.

Wenn die Waldorfschule ihren Ausgangspunkt genommen hat von anthroposophischer Geisteswissenschaft, so ist sie deshalb keineswegs, und das bitte ich durchaus zu berücksichtigen, eine Weltanschauungsschule. Am wenigsten handelt es sich bei dieser Waldorfschule darum, die anthroposophische Dogmatik, wenn ich mich so ausdrücken darf, die anthroposophische Überzeugung als solche in die Schule hineinzutragen. Weder eine Weltanschauungsschule möchte die Waldorfschule sein noch irgendeine sektiererische Schule, denn das alles liegt eigentlich nicht, trotzdem man es zumeist glaubt, im Charakter der anthroposophischen Geisteswissenschaft.

Dasjenige aber, was aus anthroposophischer Grundlage aus der Waldorfschule gemacht werden soll, das ist eine Methodenschule, eine Schule, welche die gewöhnlichen Anregungen für die Pädagogik, für die Methodik, für die Didaktik aus anthroposophisch orientierter Geisteswissenschaft heraus holt. Wir waren ja nicht in der Lage, uns auf einen so radikalen Boden zu stellen, wie viele moderne Pädagogen das tun, indem sie sagen: Will man eine Kinderschar wirklich ordentlich erziehen und unterrichten, so muß man Landerziehungsheime oder dergleichen begründen. Es gibt ja viele solche Bestrebungen der neueren Zeit. Gegen sie alle soll nichts eingewendet werden, man kann sie von ihrem Standpunkte aus durchaus verstehen, aber wir waren mit der Waldorfschule nicht in dieser glücklichen Lage. Wir hatten gegebene Tatsachen. Wir hatten vorliegend nur die Möglichkeit, innerhalb einer Stadt ins ganze Leben der Stadt hineinzustellen, zu begründen dasjenige, was eben aus der Waldorfschule werden sollte. Da kam es nicht darauf an, erst das äußere Milieu zu schaffen für diese Schule, sondern da kam es darauf an, dasjenige, was erreicht werden sollte, eben durch Pädagogik und Didaktik selbst zu erreichen mit den gegebenen Mitteln und in der gegebenen Umgebung zu wirken.

Das aber liegt auch durchaus im Charakter anthroposophischer Geisteswissenschaft, daß sie sich einer jeglichen Lebenslage anpassen kann, denn sie will aus dem unmittelbaren Leben heraus wirken. Sie will nicht in irgendeiner Weise utopistischen Ideen nachjagen, sondern sie möchte aus der unmittelbaren Daseins- und Lebenspraxis heraus dasjenige schaffen, was veranlagt ist in dem Menschen, aus den Verhältnissen, die man eben vorliegend hat.

Wie gesagt, nicht Dogmen sollen hineingetragen werden in die Schule; aber dasjenige, was der innerhalb der anthroposophischen Bewegung stehende Mensch gewinnt, ist eine Erkenntnis, die ihn als Ganzen, als Vollmenschen ergreifen kann, während doch im wesentlichen das Bildungsleben der neueren Zeit mehr auf einen gewissen Intellektualismus hinausläuft. Deshalb braucht man durchaus nicht zu glauben, daß die Waldorfschule die Kinder lehren soll, der Mensch bestehe, so wie man das in den Schriften über Anthroposophie findet, aus seinem physischen Leib nicht allein, sondern er trage in sich auch noch einen ätherischen Leib, der die Bildekräfte, die organischen Bildekräfte des physischen Leibes enthält; er trage seinen astralischen Leib in sich, der dasjenige in die menschliche Leiblichkeit, die auf der Erde lebt zwischen Geburt und Tod, hineinträgt, was sich entwickelt in dem präexistenten Sein des Menschen, in demjenigen, was der Geburt oder sagen wir, der Empfängnis vorangeht und so weiter. Nicht diese Überzeugungen werden in die Schule hineingetragen. Aber derjenige Mensch, der weiß, wie die menschliche Persönlichkeit, wenn man sie nicht bloß äußerlich, sondern wenn man sie nach Leib, Seele und Geist wirklich wissenschaftlich erfaßt, derjenige, der begreift, wie sich diese menschliche Persönlichkeit auch als werdender Mensch, als Kind vor die Seele hinstellt, der erlangt vor allen Dingen eine tiefere Menschenerkenntnis, als sie die heutige Naturwissenschaft geben kann. Aus dieser tieferen Menschenerkenntnis heraus, aus demjenigen, was anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft über den Menschen selbst erkennen lernt, aus dieser Menschenerkenntnis heraus, die nicht bloß das Denken, sondern die den ganzen Menschen nach Fühlen und Wollen ergreift, aus dieser Geisteswissenschaft heraus soll nun nicht dasjenige werden für die Waldorfschule, was man nennen könnte eine angelernte Methodik, sondern es soll dasjenige werden, was aus Menschenerkenntnis in dem Lehrer den Willen erzeugt, dem werdenden Kinde gegenüber alles das zu tun, was gewissermaßen die menschliche Organisation selber von dem Lehrer, von dem Erzieher, von dem Unterrichtenden fordert. Der größte Lehrer für die Waldorfschule ist nämlich, so paradox das klingen mag, das Kind selbst. Und indem der Waldorflehrer in seiner Brust die Überzeugung trägt: dasjenige, was dir von Woche zu Woche, von Jahr zu Jahr in dem Kinde entgegentritt, das ist der Ausdruck einer göttlich-geistigen Wesenheit, die heruntersteigt aus einem rein geistig-seelischen Dasein, die sich so entwickelt, wie sich das Physisch-Leibliche hier zwischen Geburt und Tod entwickelt und die sich verbindet mit demjenigen, was durch die Vererbungsströmung von Eltern und Voreltern an den Menschen physisch-ätherisch herankommt - diese ungeheure, tiefe Ehrfurcht, die man hat vor dem werdenden Menschen, der einem schon vom ersten Tage seines Daseins im physischen Leben zeigt, wie das Innerlich-Seelische hervortritt in den Offenbarungen der Physiognomie, in den ersten Bewegungen, im Lallen und in der werdenden Sprache, all dasjenige, was da durch wirkliche anthroposophische Menschenkenntnis hineinkommt an Ehrfurcht für dasjenige, was das Göttliche in die Welt heruntergesendet hat, all das ist das Wesentlichste, mit dem der Waldorflehrer die Pforte seiner Klasse jeden Morgen neu berritt. Und er lernt von den täglichen Offenbarungen dieses geheimnisvollen geist-seelischen Wesens dasjenige, was er tun soll.

Daher kann man die Methodik der Waldorfschule nicht in abstrakte Lehrsätze fassen. Man kann nicht ein erstens, zweitens, drittens sagen, sondern man kann nur sagen: durch anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft wird der Mensch bekannt mit dem werdenden Menschen, lernt beobachten, was aus dem Auge des Kindes blickt, was aus den strampelnden Beinen spricht. Und dadurch, daß er mit dem Menschen bekannt ist, wird diese Anthroposophie nicht nur den Intellekt ergreifen, der systematisieren kann, sondern den ganzen Menschen, der empfindet, fühlt und will. Der Lehrer wird so vor das Kind hingestellt, daß die Methode für ihn ein lebendiges Dasein gewinnt, ein solches Dasein, daß er gegenüber jeder kindlichen Individualität, selbst in größeren Klassen, immer modifizieren und metamorphosieren kann, was er für dieses Kind gerade nötig hat. Man kann, wenn man abstrakt hört, sagen: Diese verdrehten Anthroposophen, die nehmen an, daß der Mensch nicht nur jenen physischen Leib hat, mit dem sich unsere Physiologie, unsere Biologie beschäftigt, den sie so sorgfältig untersucht, wenn er als Leichnam vor ihr liegt, sondern er habe auch einen ätherischen Leib, einen astralischen Leib; den lerne man kennen, wenn man ganz besondere innere seelische Übungen macht, wenn man das Denken so erstarkt, daß der ganze Mensch zu einer Art von übersinnlichem Sinnesorgan wird, wenn ich mich dieses Goetheschen Ausdrucks bedienen darf, so daß er mehr sieht, als er sonst im gewöhnlichen Leben von dem Äußeren und von dem menschlichen Dasein sieht. Man kann sich lustig machen, wie gesagt, über die verdrehten Anthroposophen, die so von den übersinnlichen Wesen in dem Sinnlichen des Menschen sprechen. Aber ohne daß diese nicht auf irgendwelchen Phantasmen, sondern auf gründlicher Erkenntnis beruhende Überzeugung etwa in die Schule hineingetragen wird, gewinnt derjenige, der das Kind erziehen und unterrichten soll, die Möglichkeit, aus dem, was er im Konkreten lernt über den Menschen nach Leib, Seele und Geist, den werdenden Menschen so anzuschauen, wie er angeschaut werden muß, damit man wirklich dem innersten Wesen des anderen, also in unserem Falle dem innersten Wesen des Kindes nahetreten kann.

Nicht das Geringste soll hier von mir gesagt werden gegen dasjenige, was man heute etwa experimentelle Psychologie und experimentelle Pädagogik nennt. Ich kenne durchaus dasjenige, was diese wissenschaftlichen Zweige leisten können und kann es auch würdigen. Allein gerade daß diese wissenschaftlichen Zweige vorhanden sind, macht auf der anderen Seite durchaus notwendig, daß eine Vertiefung unseres Bildungslebens überhaupt eintritt. Denn neben all dem Verdienstvollen, das experimentelle Psychologie und experimentelle Pädagogik leisten, sind sie doch ein Beweis dafür, daß man im Grunde genommen in unmittelbarer, elementarer Art dem menschlichen Wesen nicht nähergekommen ist durch die moderne Bildung, sondern eigentlich diesem menschlichen Wesen gegenüber in die Ferne gerückt ist. Man experimentiert äußerlich an den Kindern herum, wie das Denken, wie das Gedächtnis sogar wie der Wille wirkt. Man soll sich dann pädagogische Regeln und Gesetze darnach bilden nach den verschiedenen Tabellen, die man sich gemacht hat über dieses oder jenes. Gewiß, gerade dem anthroposophischen Denker und anthroposophischen Erzieher werden solche Tabellen nützlich. Aber wenn man in ihnen das Ein und Alles sieht desjenigen, was wir heute etwa pädagogisch und didaktisch zur Grundlage machen können, so liefert man doch nur den Beweis dafür, daß man eigentlich dem wahren, inneren Wesen des Kindes fernsteht. Warum muß man denn experimentieren? Man muß experimentieren, weil die einstmals in älterer, wenn ich sie so nennen darf, patriarchalischer Zeit vorhandene unmittelbare Beziehung, die imponderable Beziehung der Lehrerseele, der Erzieherseele zur Kinderseele unter dem Einflusse der modernen materialistischen Bildung verlorengegangen ist. Man experimentiert äußerlich herum, weil man kein unmittelbares Anschauen und Empfinden von demjenigen hat, was eigentlich innerlich in dem Kinde vor sich geht. Und eben gerade das äußerliche Experimentieren ist ein Beweis dafür, daß wir diesen innerlichen elementaren Bezug verloren haben und ihn wieder mit aller Kraft zu gewinnen suchen müssen.

Wenn man heute experimentelle Psychologie und experimentelle Pädagogik betrachtet, so ist es eigentlich so, als ob irgend jemand, sagen wir, einen Reiter betrachtet, wie der über einen glatten Weg hinkommt, oder wie er über einen schwierigen Weg hinkommt, und nun statistische Aufnahmen darüber macht: auf dem glatten Wege kommt er in einer Viertelstunde so weit vorwärts, auf einem schlüpfrigen Wege so weit, auf einem unebenen Wege so weit und so weiter. So ungefähr sind auch die Experimente, die man anstellt darüber, ob das Kind sich nach einer Viertelstunde dieses oder jenes merkt, so und so viel Worte ausläßt in seiner Erinnerung und so fort. Wenn man die statistischen Aufnahmen über den Reiter machen würde, so hätte man es zu tun mit dem äußeren Wege, außerdem aber damit, was das Pferd leisten kann auf diesem Wege; aber man kommt dem Wesen des Reiters nicht näher, obwohl es natürlich durchaus möglich ist, unter diesen Umständen solche statistischen Aufnahmen zu machen. Aber darauf kommt es an, daß man nicht bloß an der äußeren Oberfläche des zu Erziehenden äußerlich Untersuchungen anstellt, sondern daß man unmittelbar hineindringt in das Innere.

In der anthroposophischen Geisteswissenschaft nun lernt man kennen dasjenige, was uns mit der Geburt des Kindes gegeben wird. Es trägt in sich nicht nur dasjenige, was sich den Sinnen offenbart, sondern es trägt in sich ein geistig-seelisches Wesen, das sich mit dem physischen Menschenkeim verbunden hat. Und man lernt ganz genau kennen, wie sich dieses geistig-seelische Wesen entwickelt, ebenso wie man in der physischen Wissenschaft lernt, wie sich in der Vererbungsströmung der physische Keim entwickelt. Man lernt einsehen, wie in die menschliche Organisation, unabhängig von den vererbten Merkmalen, etwas über. sinnlich Geistig-Seelisches eintritt. Ohne daß man - ich muß das immer wieder erwähnen - ein solches Dogma in die Schule hineinträgt, betrachtet man es als eine Orientierungsrichtung, als dasjenige, was einem in der richtigen Weise Anleitung gibt, das Kind schon vor der Schule zu beobachten.

Bei dem Kinde, das zum Beispiel die Sprache lernt, nützt einem diese Voraussetzung: du mußt nicht nur dasjenige beobachten, was in der Vererbungsströmung liegt, du mußt dasjenige beobachten, was aus geistigen Untergründen heraus in dem Kinde sich entwickelt, und dazu gehört die Sprache. Und nun, indem man den Menschen durch anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft wirklich kennt, indem man unterscheiden lernt zwischen dem mehr innerlichen astralischen Leibe und dem mehr äußerlichen ätherischen Leibe, lernt man in ganz anderer Weise noch das Wesen des Willens kennen, der mehr an den astralischen Leib gebunden ist, und das Wesen des Denkens zum Beispiel, das mehr an den ätherischen Leib gebunden ist, in ihrem Zusammenwirken im Sprechen. Denn beim Beobachten, beim Erfahren handelt es sich nicht darum, daß man bloß die äußeren Tatsachen beobachtet, sondern darum, daß man diese äußeren Tatsachen in das richtige Licht stellen kann.

Und nun nehme man einen solchen geschulten Beobachter des Lebens, einen solchen durch Anthroposophie geschulten Menschenkenner, und stelle ihn hin neben das Kind, das allmählich die Sprache lernt. Mehr als durch alle statistischen Aufnahmen, die zum Beispiel der ausgezeichnete Psychologe Wilhelm Preyer über die Psychologie des Kindes gemacht hat, lernt derjenige, der nun wirklich hineinschauen gelernt hat in das Seelenleben des Kindes, durch die imponderablen Kräfte, die von dem Erwachsenen zu dem Kinde hinüberspielen. Er lernt erkennen, welch ungeheurer Unterschied es ist, ob ich, sagen wir, höre, wie die Mutter oder der Vater des Kindes zu ihm spricht, um es zu beruhigen: Ei, ei -, oder indem man mit dem Kinde sich darüber unterhält, wie der Raum, in dem sie sich befanden, ist, und sagt: Husch, husch! - Mit jedem Vokalischen spreche ich unmittelbar zu dem Empfindungs-, zu dem Gefühlsleben des Kindes. Ich wende mich an das Innerste der Seele. Ich lerne durch anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft, wie ich da ein gewisses Gebiet der Seele errege, so daß eine gewisse Verbindung zwischen dem Erziehenden, dem Pflegenden und dem Kinde herbeigeführt wird, die unmittelbar eine Strömung von dem Pflegenden zu dem innersten seelischen Empfindungsleben des Kindes hervorruft.

Wenn ich, sagen wir, die Kälte der Umgebung bespreche und das Kind sich hineinfindet in das Husch, husch, so wirke ich unmittelbar auf den Willen. Und ich sehe, wie das eine Mal das Empfindungs- und Gefühlsleben des Kindes erregt wird, das andere Mal, wie es in das Bewegungsleben des Kindes hineinspielt, wie Willensimpulse zugrunde liegen.

Ich wollte mit diesem Beispiel nur andeuten, wie in den elementarsten Lebensäußerungen bei einer wirklichen Lebenserkenntnis Licht hineingestellt wird in alles. Wir stehen heute vor einer großartigen Sprachwissenschaft, aus der ganz gewiß die Pädagogik auch Ungeheures lernen kann. Aber diese Sprachwissenschaft betrachtet die Sprache wie etwas vom Menschen Abgesondertes. Derjenige, der durch anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft geschult ist, lernt die Sprache nicht, wie etwas, ich möchte sagen, über den Menschen Schwebendes kennen, das sie aufnimmt, das sie in seine ganze Strömung hineinbringt, sondern derjenige, der anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft, die immer auf das Vollmenschliche geht, auf das Leben wirklich anzuwenden versteht, der lernt, wie alles Vokalisieren, wie das ganze Sich-Hineinfinden in das Vokalisieren der Sprache bei dem Kinde verquickt ist mit einem innerlichen Durchwärmen vom Gefühlsleben; währenddem alles Konsonantieren, alles dasjenige, was das Kind an den Konsonanten lernt, verknüpft ist mit Willensregungen.

Das ist es, daß man in der intimsten Weise das Kind beobachten lernt. Und eben diese intime Beobachtung, dieses intim Sich-Hineinfühlen in den Menschen, ist uns abhanden gekommen. Wir gehen gewissermaßen um den Menschen herum, um ihn zu erziehen, während wir den unmittelbaren Kontakt im Laufe der Zeit gerade durch die moderne Erziehungswissenschaft verloren haben. Wir wissen nicht, wie mit allen Wachstumsvorgängen, mit alledem, was im Kinde sonst vorgeht, innerlich organisch die Sprache zusammenhängt, denn wir wissen im Grunde genommen nichts davon, wie der Mensch innerlich warm und gefühlvoll wird, wenn wir ihn zu einem richtigen Nachahmer erziehen. Das Kind ist bis zu seinem Zahnwechsel um das siebente Jahr herum ganz auf die Nachahmung angewiesen. Alle Erziehung beruht im Grunde genommen auf der Nachahmung. Nur wenn wir die Nachahmungsfähigkeit des Menschen in den ersten Lebensjahren richtig verstehen, sie von Jahr zu Jahr konkret verfolgen können, können wir wirklich tiefer hineinschauen in das Wesen des Menschen und aus diesem Wesen heraus dann auch in einer Weise erziehen, die den Menschen dann als Vollmenschen später in das Leben hineinstellen kann.

So ist es nicht nur mit der Sprache, sondern so ist es mit alldem, was wir auch in den ersten Lebensjahren, bevor das Kind zur Schule geht, ihm beizubringen haben. Das Kind ist bis zum Zahnwechsel im wesentlichen auf die Nachahmung angewiesen. Und dieses Studieren der Nachahmung, die Sprache selbst bildet sich ja durchaus durch Nachahmung, dieses Studieren der Nachahmung auf allen Lebensgebieten, das macht anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft möglich. Aber man sieht auch sonst tiefer in das Wesen des Menschen hinein. Und während unsere heutige Psychologie immerfort herumdenkt: Welche Beziehung besteht eigentlich zwischen der Seele des Menschen oder, wie man auch sagt, zwischen dem Geiste des Menschen und dem Physisch-Leiblichen? ist die heutige Psychologie gar nicht in der Lage, sich Vorstellungen zu bilden über die Beziehung des Seelisch-Geistigen zu dem PhysischLeiblichen, weil sie ja im Grunde genommen das Leibliche zwar kennt, aber erst kennenlernt richtig, wenn dieses als Leiche von dem SeelischGeistigen verlassen ist, und weil auf der anderen Seite eben jene Entfernung eingetreten ist von dem Seelisch-Geistigen, von der ich soeben gesprochen habe. Das sieht man am besten an einem einzelnen Beispiele.

Solche Ereignisse, wie der Zahnwechsel um das siebente Jahr herum, werden von der heutigen Wissenschaft nicht in einer Weise, die tief genug ist, gewürdigt. Denn derjenige, der solche Beobachtungsgabe hat, wie sie anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft in den Menschen heranerzieht, sieht, wie sich die seelischen Kräfte des Menschen durchaus umändern, wandeln, wenn der Mensch, das Kind, diesen Zahnwechsel durchmacht. Das Gedächtnis, die kindliche Denkfähigkeit, auch das kindliche Empfindungsvermögen, sie werden in diesen Jahren ganz andere, als sie vorher gewesen sind. Und eigentlich sieht man eine gewisse Konfiguration des Seelenlebens erst mit diesem siebenten Jahre, es ist approximativ natürlich, aus dem Kinde heraussprießen. Wo war denn dasjenige, das da aus dem Kinde heraussprießt, das wir in der Schule eigentlich erst behandeln, wo war das vorher?

Sehen Sie, die Denkweise der heutigen Wissenschaft ist auf dem unorganischen Gebiet durchaus auf einem richtigen Wege. Wenn ich irgendwo einen Körper habe und durch irgendwelchen Vorgang geht Wärme aus diesem Körper hervor, so studiere ich als heutiger Physiker, wie diese Wärme vorher in dem Körper schon enthalten war als latente, als verborgene Wärme, und wie sie durch einen gewissen Vorgang als freie Wärme aus dem Körper herausgetreten ist. Ich werde nicht sagen: Diese Wärme ist dem Körper irgendwie angeflogen, sondern ich suche die Bedingungen, unter denen sie schon vorher in dem Körper drinnen war. Die Denkrichtung, welche die Wissenschaft in dieser Beziehung schon inauguriert hat, die kann auch übertragen werden auf die komplizierteren Verhältnisse, vor allen Dingen auf die menschlichen Lebensverhältnisse selber.

Derjenige, der im anthroposophischen Sinne studiert, wie Gedächtnis, Denkvermögen, Willensvermögen des Kindes die eigentümliche Konfiguration im siebenten Jahre annehmen, der kommt nach und nach darauf, daß dieses alles ja auch nicht dem Kinde angeflogen ist, sondern daß es sich aus dem Kinde selbst heraus entwickelt hat. Wo war es denn vorher? Es war in dem kindlichen Organismus. Und dasjenige, was ich dann in der Schule zu behandeln habe, das war vorher als eine latente, als eine verborgene Kraft in dem Inneren des Menschen; es ist frei geworden. Es war in dem Inneren des Menschen, so lange der Mensch jene Kraft brauchte, die dann ihren Schlußpunkt findet in dem Hervorstoßen der zweiten Zähne. Sind die zweiten Zähne hervorgestoßen, dann wird dieser Vorgang im Leben des Menschen nicht wiederholt. Dasjenige, was zuerst im Inneren des Menschen organisierend gewirkt hat, was seinen Abschluß gefunden hat mit dem Hervorstoßen der ersten Zähne, das wird frei, so wie aus gewissen Körpern die Wärme frei wird. Das tritt dann als seelisch-geistiges Vermögen, als die Fähigkeiten einem entgegen, welche man in der Schule erziehend und unterrichtend zu behandeln hat. Man lernt das Zusammenwirken von Seele und Leib nur kennen, wenn man ins Konkrete eingeht. Philosophisch-spekulativ kann man lange herumdenken: wie verhalten sich Seele und Leib. Man muß im Konkreten anschauen von der Geburt an bis zum siebenten Lebensjahre, da haben die Kräfte, die ich nachher kennenlerne, nachher als Erziehender und Unterrichtender selber zu gestalten habe, die frei geworden sind, die haben im Organismus drinnen gewirkt, die sind aus dem Organismus hervorgetreten.

Und so ist es durch das ganze menschliche Leben hindurch. Alle Spekulationen, die man heute in Philosophie- oder Psychologiebüchern findet über das Verhältnis von Seele und Leib, die sind nutzlos, wenn nicht ein konkretes Anschauen nach wirklicher wissenschaftlicher Methode zugrunde gelegt wird.

Beobachtet man dann so etwas weiter und weiß: dasjenige, was dir als Lehrer in dem Kinde entgegentritt, das ist dieselbe Kraft, die vorher in dem Organismus gewirkt hat, dann sagt man sich: jetzt muß sie eine andere Form annehmen, diese Kraft; ich muß sie, indem ich zu unterrichten und zu erziehen habe, in dieser anderen Form kennenlernen. Ich muß sie aber auch in ihren Urständen kennenlernen, wie sie vorher im Organismus drinnen gewirkt hat. Nun, darüber ließe sich vieles sagen. Ich will nur darauf aufmerksam machen: diese Kraft, die also in den Tiefen des Organismus drinnen lebenbetätigend wirkt, die ist es, die zunächst das Kind zum Nachahmer macht bis zum siebenten Lebensjahre, und man muß schon hinschauen auf dieses nachahmende Vermögen in dem Kinde, wenn man das Kind vor dem schulpflichtigen Alter richtig verstehen will.

Da kommen zum Beispiel Eltern, die sagen: Mein Kind hat gestohlen. Sie suchen Rat. Man frägt dann: Ja, wie alt ist denn das Kind? Vier, fünf Jahre alt. Ein vier-, fünfjähriges Kind, so paradox das klingen mag, stiehlt in Wirklichkeit nicht. Ein vier-, fünfjähriges Kind ist ein Nachahmer. Und wenn man weiter frägt, so wird einem zum Beispiel gesagt: Dieses Kind hat täglich gesehen, wie die Mutter aus einem Schrank heraus Geld nimmt. Es ahmt nach, es nimmt auch Geld. Ich habe sogar den Fall erlebt, wo ein solches Kind Geld herausgenommen hat aus dem Schrank und es nicht selber vernascht hat, sondern Sachen gekauft hat, die es an andere Kinder verteilt hat. Es war durchaus nichts Unmoralisches dabei, sondern etwas Amoralisches, Nachahmerisches.

Das aber bringt einen dazu, richtig zu erkennen, wie man bei dem Erziehen mit Imponderabilien zu tun hat. Bis in die Gedankenverfassung hinein muß man wissen, daß, indem man dem Kinde als Nachahmer gegenübersteht, man in seiner Umgebung nur dasjenige tun und sprechen, ja sogar denken darf, was das Kind nachahmen kann. Auf die Nachahmung muß vor dem schulpflichtigen Alter die Erziehung gebaut sein. Das mag zunächst paradox klingen, das ist aber dasjenige, was einer wirklich gesunden Erziehung zugrunde liegen muß.

Diejenigen Kräfte, die hier vorzugsweise den ganzen Menschen zum Nachahmer machen, die ihn bis zu dem Grade zum Nachahmer machen, daß er die leiseste Handbewegung seiner Umgebung nachahmt, die treten mit dem siebenten Lebensjahre, indem sie gleichsam frei werden, als diejenigen Kräfte hervor, die wir eben als Erzieher und Lehrer zu gestalten haben. Und wenn man diesen Gedanken weiter ausbaut, dann sagt man sich: Während das Kind bis zum siebenten Jahre ein Nachahmer ist, ist es durch das schulpflichtige Alter hindurch bis zur Geschlechtsreife darauf angewiesen, daß ihm als selbstverständliche, richtunggebende Macht die Autorität des Lehrenden, des Erziehers gegenübersteht. Das ist dasjenige, um was es sich von dem Zahnwechsel bis zur Geschlechtsreife handelt, daß man gründlich versteht, wie allein dieses auf selbstverständliche Autorität zwischen dem Kinde und dem Unterrichtenden und Erziehenden bestehende Verhältnis in der richtigen Weise leiten kann.

Dieses Autoritäsverhältnis ist in abstracto leicht ausgesprochen. Man muß aber wirklich auf Anthroposophie gegründete Menschenerkenntnis in sich tragen, wenn man in jedem Augenblicke dieses Autoritätsverhältnis in die richtigen Bahnen leiten will.

Sehen Sie, man redet heute in einem gewissen Sinne mit Recht davon ich sage ausdrücklich in einem gewissen Sinne mit Recht -, Anschauungsunterricht müsse sein. Gewiß, es muß auch Anschauungsunterricht sein für gewisse Gebiete. Aber dasjenige, was nicht anschaulich ist, das kann eben nicht durch den Anschauungsunterricht an das Kind herangebracht werden. Das ist vor allen Dingen die sittliche Weltordnung, das sind die religiösen Empfindungen, das ist alles dasjenige, was in der Welt das Geistige ist. Das Geistige ist zunächst für die äußeren Sinne unanschaulich, und wenn man den sogenannten Anschauungsunterricht zu weit treibt, dann erzieht man das Kind direkt zu dem bloßen Glauben an das äußerlich sinnlich Anschauliche, das heißt zum Materialismus. Dasjenige, worauf es aber ankommt im schulpflichtigen Alter, das ist, daß das Kind durch das selbstverständliche Verhältnis zum Lehrer und Erzieher das Gefühl hat: der Mensch, der neben mir steht - es ist, wenn man das ausspricht, natürlich etwas anderes, als es im Kinde lebt, aber das Kind hat es in elementarer Weise -, derjenige, der neben mir steht, der weiß, was richtig ist, der verhält sich so, wie man sich zu verhalten hat, dem muß ich folgen. Während das Kind in den ersten sieben Lebensjahren seine ganze Betätigungsweise nachahmend in die Richtung seiner Umgebung hineinbringt, also ich möchte sagen, vorzugsweise auf Gebärden, auch auf jene inneren Gebärden hin, die in der Sprache hervortreten, sich bildet, bildet sich das Kind im schulpflichtigen Alter unter dem Einfluß desjenigen, was auf das Wort der selbstverständlichen Autorität ihm übertragen werden kann. Und da muß man gründlich hineingeführt werden durch wahre Menschenerkenntnis in dasjenige, was diese selbstverständliche Autorität sein kann.

Sie werden demjenigen, der wie ich vor vielen Jahren eine «Philosophie der Freiheit» geschrieben hat, nicht zumuten, daß er etwa im sozialen Leben einem reaktionären Autoritätsglauben das Wort rede. Das ist nicht aus irgendeiner solchen Absicht heraus, sondern aus pädagogischen und didaktischen Untergründen heraus, daß ich sage: Das wesentlichste Erziehungsprinzip, die wesentlichste erziehende Kraft zwischen dem siebenten Lebensjahr und der Geschlechtsreife liegt in alle dem, was unter dem Glauben, daß die Autorität das Richtige weiß und das Richtige tut, in das Kind sich hineinsenkt. —- Und ohne daß wir auf Autorität hin uns entwickeln, können wir später nicht in einer heilsamen Weise in das soziale Leben eintreten.

Man muß nur wissen, was es heißt, auf Autorität hin etwas annehmen. Ich weiß, daß ich für viele damit etwas außerordentlich Paradoxes sage, allein im Grunde genommen doch nur für diejenigen, die nicht den Willen haben, das Leben in seiner Ganzheit zu betrachten.

Denken Sie nur, wenn die Natur im zweiten Lebensjahre des Menschen nicht, sagen wir, unsere Fingerformen so anlegte, daß sie wachsen und gedeihen, wenn die Natur unsere Finger so anlegte, daß sie gewissermaßen in feste, schablonenhafte Formen gegossen wären, was mit uns wäre! Wir müssen wachsende, fortwährend in metamorphosierender Organisation sich befindliche Wesen sein als Menschen. Solches Wesen müssen wir auch, indem wir Erzieher sind, in die Seele des Kindes hineingießen. Wir müssen dem Kinde nichts beibringen, was ihm Vorstellungen, Empfindungen, Willensimpulse erweckt, die gewissermaßen scharfe Konturen haben. So wenig als unsere Finger so bleiben mit ihren Konturen, wie sie im zweiten Lebensjahre sind, sondern durch ihre eigene Kraft wachsen, so müssen alle Vorstellungen, alle Empfindungen, die wir in das Kind hineingießen während der Schulzeit, in sich das Wesen des Wachstums tragen.

Wir müssen uns klar sein darüber: was du heute dem achtjährigen Kinde beibringst, das darf nicht eine scharf umrissene Kontur haben, das muß innerliche Wachstumsfähigkeit sein; das muß im vierzigsten Lebensjahre etwas ganz anderes geworden sein können. Du mußt den ganzen Menschen ins Auge fassen können. Derjenige, der das Autoritätsprinzip für diese Kindesjahre nicht in der richtigen Weise würdigt, hat niemals eine Erfahrung darüber gemacht, was es eigentlich heißt, wenn man zum Beispiel in seinem fünfunddreißigsten Jahre, wie aus einer dunklen Erinnerung heraus einen Begriff bekommt über Geschichte, Geographie oder irgend etwas anderes, oder auch nur einen Begriff aus dem Leben, den man auf die Autorität eines geliebten Lehrers oder Erziehers in seinem neunten Jahre angenommen hat, dazumal noch gar nicht verstanden hat, den man eben nur auf Autorität hin angenommen hat. Wenn der heraufkommt und mit dem reiferen Verstande begreift man ihn nach Jahrzehnten erst, das ist belebendes Prinzip, das ruft in einem das unbestimmte Gefühl hervor, man braucht es sich gar nicht einmal zum Bewußtsein zu bringen: du hast etwas von deinen jüngsten Jahren Lebendes in dir auch in deinem Seelenleben. Wir müssen durchaus in dieser Beziehung den Wachstumskräften der Natur nachgehen können.

Unsere Erziehungsprinzipien, die Methoden, müssen nicht in Paragraphen eingeschnürt werden, sie müssen gewissermaßen aus lebendiger Menschenkenntnis heraus dem Menschen, der zu erziehen, zu unterrichten hat, im Blute liegen; dann werden sie so sein, daß sie den Menschen behandeln und nicht, daß sie in den Menschen etwas hineinpfropfen. Dasjenige, was von den großen Pädagogen des 19. und beginnenden 20. Jahrhunderts gesagt worden ist, wird damit nicht negiert; im Gegenteil, es wird erst in der richtigen Weise befolgt.

Derjenige, der ein Waldorflehrer werden will, weiß sehr wohl, daß er nicht in dilettantischer Weise sich einfach in die Schule hineinstellen darf. Er muß alle die Anregungen empfangen, die die Pädagogik des 19. Jahrhunderts, des 20. Jahrhunderts gebracht hat, aber er muß zu gleicher Zeit diese lebendige Menschenerkenntnis, von der ich eben spreche, in die Schule hineintragen. Da möchte man das Goethe-Wort aussprechen: «Das Was bedenke, mehr bedenke Wie.» In bezug auf das Was, das heißt in bezug auf die Grundsätze und Prinzipien, wie unterrichtet werden soll, steht in der Tat in unseren pädagogischen Theorien und didaktischen Lehr- und Unterrichtsbüchern Ausgezeichnetes. Es steht auch manchmal in ganz kurzen Anleitungen etwas geradezu Idealisches. Aber das ist das Was. Das Was bedenke, mehr bedenke Wie. Es handelt sich gar nicht darum, daß man abstrakte Grundsätze aufstellt, sondern es handelt sich darum, daß man als lebendiger Mensch mit innerlicher Seelenwärme, mit starken Lebensimpulsen diese Grundsätze ins Leben überführen kann.

Ich bin vollständig davon überzeugt, wenn sich heute drei oder zwölf, es können auch mehr oder weniger sein, gar nicht beträchtlich gescheite Menschen zusammensetzen und aus ihrem Verstande heraus eine ideale Schule konstruieren, sie wird auf dem Papier mit erstens, zweitens, drittens und so weiter ganz ausgezeichnet sein. Man wird gar nichts Besseres ausdenken können. Die schönsten Ideale kann man ausdenken und zu parteimäßigen Prinzipien von großen Bewegungen, Reformbewegungen und so weiter machen. Aber auf all das kommt es ja nicht an im Leben, sondern worauf es im Leben ankommt, das ist, das Leben selbst darauf anzusehen, daß man den lebendigen Menschen hat, der dasjenige tut, was eben gerade unter gegebenen Verhältnissen möglich und notwendig ist. Das Was bedenke, mehr bedenke Wie.

Und so kommt es darauf an, daß tatsächlich überall die Liebe zu dem Kinde zugrunde liegt, daß aus diesem lebendigen Erleben heraus an das Unterrichten und an das Erziehen gegangen wird. Dann begründet man selbstverständlich alles in anderer Weise, als es sonst begründet wird. Und da darf ich gewissermaßen noch als einen allgemeinen Grundsatz etwa das Folgende aussprechen. Ich möchte wiederum anschaulich an einem Beispiel davon sprechen.

Sehen Sie, man soll dem Kinde veranschaulichen: das Kind kann sich in abgezogene abstrakte Begriffe durch Anschauung hineinfinden, aber man kann auch mit der Anschauung über Abstraktes, über Ethisches, Religiöses in verschiedener Weise verfahren. Nehmen wir zum Beispiel an, ich will einem Kinde in dem entsprechenden Alter einen Begriff beibringen von der Unsterblichkeit der Menschenseele. Ich tue das durch einen Vergleich. Ich kann das aber in zweifacher Weise tun. Die eine ist die, daß ich mir sage: Ich bin der Lehrer, also bin ich sehr gescheit, furchtbar gescheit; das Kind ist noch jung, furchtbar dumm. Also bilde ich einen Vergleich. Ich sage: Sieh dir einmal an, da ist die Schmetterlingspuppe; aus der kommt der Schmetterling heraus. Ich zeige dem Kinde diesen Vorgang anschaulich und sage ihm dann: $o wie der Schmetterling aus dieser Puppe herauskommt, so wird einstmals, wenn der Mensch an die Pforte des Todes tritt, die unsterbliche Seele in die geistige Welt sich hineinbegeben. So kann ich an das Kind herantreten, diesen Vergleich ausdenken, mir furchtbar gescheit vorkommen dem Kinde gegenüber, aber ich werde nicht viel erreichen. Da kommen eben die Imponderabilien in Betracht. Bin ich aber geschult durch anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft über das Wesen der Welt, so daß ich weiß: in allem Materiellen ist Geist, dann sage ich gar nicht: ich bin furchtbar gescheit und das Kind ist furchtbar dumm und ich muß etwas ausdenken, sondern ich glaube selbst daran, daß dasjenige, was auf einer höheren Stufe die aus dem Leibe hervorkommende Seele ist, auf einer niederen Stufe durch Naturgesetzmäßigkeit sich hinstellt als das Herauskriechen des Schmetterlings aus der Puppe. Ich glaube selbst an meinen Vergleich. Das ist für mich heilige Überzeugung. Das sind zwei verschiedene Dinge. Rede ich aus heiliger Überzeugung zu dem Kinde, nun, da berühre ich auf imponderable Weise das Innerste des Kindes. Da rufe ich in ihm dasjenige hervor, was ein lebendiges Empfinden, ein lebendiger Begriff ist; und so kann man sagen, ist es in allen Dingen. Man muß nur weder unterschätzen noch überschätzen dasjenige, was moderne, auf das Äußere gerichtete Wissenschaft sein kann.

Lassen Sie mich ein etwas weithergeholtes Beispiel anführen, nur zum Beleg. Sie wissen ja, es war einmal viel die Rede von den sogenannten rechnenden Pferden. Diese rechnenden Pferde führten ganz besondere Kunststücke auf. Nun, ich habe die Elberfelder nicht gesehen, aber ich habe das Pferd des Herrn von Osten selber gesehen und habe gesehen, wie dieses Pferd tatsächlich mit seinem Fuß, mit seinem Bein aufstampfte: eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs und so weiter, wenn irgend einfache Rechnungsaufgaben gegeben worden sind. Man muß schon Beobachtungssinn für solche Dinge haben, wenn man nicht auf der einen Seite in nebulose Mystik und auf der anderen Seite in Rationalismus verfallen will - man kann ja da alles erklären. Sehen Sie, da gab es zum Beispiel einen Privatdozenten der Psychologie, der Physiologie, der sah sich auch dieses Pferd des Herrn von Osten an. Der sagte: Ja, dieses Pferd, das stampft mit dem Fuße bei irgendeiner Zahl auf, weil es ganz bestimmte feine Bewegungen in den Mienen, die der Herr von Osten macht, sieht. Und wenn der Herr von Osten dann bei drei mal drei ist neun, die entsprechende Miene macht, dann hört das Pferd auf, mit dem Bein aufzustoßen. Nun mußte natürlich der betreffende gelehrte Mann auch plausibel machen, daß es solche Mienen gibt in dem Antlitz des Pferdebesitzers. Aber es ließen sich solche Mienen in Herrn von Osten nicht nachweisen. Da sagte der gelehrte Mann in einer sehr gelehrten Abhandlung eben: Ja, die Mienen sind so fein, daß sie eben ein Mensch nicht sieht; und ich kann selber nicht sagen, sagte er, worinnen diese Mienen bestehen. - Sie sehen also, diese Gelehrsamkeit, die bestand eigentlich darin, daß er sagte: Ja, ich bin nicht so gescheit, um die Mienen herauszubringen; das ist aber das Roß. Das ist also wesentlich gescheiter als ich oder hat wesentlich feineres Empfindungsvermögen.

Wer unbefangener als solch ein gelehrter Mann die Sache betrachtete, der beobachtete, wie der Herr von Osten aus seiner rechten Rocktasche, die sehr groß war, fortwährend Zuckerstückchen herausnahm und, während das Pferd diese Bewegungen machte, seine Rechnungen ausführte, fortwährend ihm Zuckerstückchen zuführte, so daß das Pferd während seiner Rechnerei fortwährend Zucker schleckte. Und dieses Behandeln des Pferdes bringt nämlich ein ganz besonderes - bitte, mißverstehen Sie mich nicht - Liebesverhältnis hervor, ein besonderes inneres Verhältnis. Das liegt dann den innersten Wirkungen zugrunde, die nun tatsächlich ausgehen. Da muß man schon ausgehen von jener Strömung, die entsteht durch ein solches Anregen der Liebe, wie es mit den Zuckerstückchen geschieht, wenn man einsehen will, welches unter der Oberfläche der gewöhnlichen Beobachtung liegende Verhältnis da ist. Und tatsächlich, man kann nicht im groben Sinne von Hypnotismus und Suggestion sprechen, sondern man muß von ganz anderen feinen Beziehungen sprechen, wenn man auf diese Dinge kommen will. Diese Dinge lassen sich weder mit nebuloser Mystik, noch mit Rationalismus begreifen, sondern nur, wenn man wirklich Seelenerkenntnis hat, in diesem Falle nicht nur menschliche Seelenerkenntnis, sondern auch Seelenerkenntnis für das Tier.

Und das ist es, worauf es nun vor allen Dingen ankommt, wenn man eine lebendige Pädagogik begründen will im Gegensatze zu einer auf bloßen Prinzipien, auf bloße äußere, intellektualistisch gefaßte Sätze begründete Pädagogik oder Didaktik. Diese Pädagogik führt einem dazu, dann wirklich das Kind von Jahr zu Jahr beobachten zu können. Und auf dieses Wie kommt es an, auf das individuelle Behandeln eines jeden Kindes selbst in einer größeren Klasse. Man kann das. Das hat die Waldorfschule durchaus gezeigt, schon in den wenigen Jahren, seit denen sie besteht.

Ich kann jetzt bloß in großen Linien zeigen, was aber im Konkreten, Einzelnen ausgeführt werden könnte. Da haben wir dann das, daß das Kind in die Schule gebracht wird und zunächst schreiben und nach und nach lesen lernen soll, vielleicht auch rechnen und so weiter; aber nehmen wir zunächst das Lesen. Das Lesen ist zunächst etwas, das im heutigen Zustande, im heutigen Menschenleben dem Kind eigentlich recht fremd liegt. Wenn wir in Urzeiten, in frühere Zeiten zurückgehen, da haben wir noch eine Bilderschrift, da liegt noch in dem einzelnen Schriftzug etwas, was bildhaft zu dem Gegenstande, der bezeichnet werden soll, hinführt. In unserer Zeichenschrift haben wir nichts mehr, was in unmittelbarer Weise, anknüpfend an die unmittelbaren Seelenkräfte, das Kind hinführen würde zu dem, was bezeichnet wird. Daher darf man auch nicht, wenn das Kind mit dem sechsten, siebenten Jahre in die Schule kommt, anfangen, in dieser Weise die Schriftzüge beizubringen. Bei uns in der Waldorfschule geht aller Unterricht, auch der des Schreibens, der dem Lesen vorangeht, aus von einem gewissen appellieren an den künstlerischen Sinn des Kindes. Wir bringen dem Kinde zunächst, und zwar von allem Anfang an eine gewisse Möglichkeit bei, sich zeichnerisch mit Farben, nicht bloß mit den Stiften malend zu betätigen, so daß wir aus dem Zeichnen, aus dem Malen, aus dem Künstlerischen, wie wir es in der einfachen Weise an das Kind heranbringen können, etwas geben, woraus wir dann die Buchstabenformen entstehen lassen. Gewiß, solche Dinge werden auch sonst schon beobachtet; aber es kommt hier wiederum auf das Wie an. Vor allen Dingen kommt es darauf an, daß wir an dasjenige, was nicht auf den Intellekt wirkt, bei dem man sich etwas merken muß, sondern was vor allen Dingen auf den Willen wirkt, an das Kind heranbringen, und aus dem heraus, was Zeichnerisch und Malerisch ist, das Kind allmählich führen zu dem, was aus dem Willen aufsteigen kann zu dem intellektuellen Begreifen der Sache.

Und so führen wir die Kinder von Stufe zu Stufe, indem wir alles aus der Natur des Kindes heraus entwickeln. Bis auf den Lehrplan hin kann tatsächlich der werdenden Natur des Kindes alles abgelesen werden, was mit ihm zu geschehen hat. Dazu gehört eben anthroposophische Menschenkenntnis.

Da möchte ich nun darauf aufmerksam machen, daß man zum Beispiel genau beobachten kann, wie man das Kind verdirbt, man bringt ihm nicht wachsende Begriffe und wachsende Empfindungen und wachsende Willensimpulse bei, wenn man zu früh damit anfängt, das Kind aufmerksam zu machen auf den Unterschied der äußeren Welt mit dem eigenen Seelenleben. Bis ungefähr zum neunten Jahre unterscheidet sich das Kind überhaupt nicht von der Welt. Nur muß man nicht solche abstrakten Begriffe anwenden, wie es manche heute tun, die da sagen: Nun ja, ein Kind, wenn es sich anstößt an einer Tischecke, schlägt den Tisch, weil es den Tisch auch für etwas Lebendiges hält. Das ist natürlich ein Unsinn. Das Kind hält den Tisch gar nicht für etwas Lebendiges; es behandelt den Tisch so wie ein anderes Kind, weil es nicht unterscheidet zwischen sich und dem Tisch; das Lebendige spielt dabei noch gar keine Rolle. Der Begriff dafür ist noch nicht da. Man muß überall mit realen, mit wirklichen Begriffen rechnen, nicht mit dem, was man sich einbildet. Was man bis zum neunten Jahr an das Kind heranbringt, muß durchaus einen rein menschlichen Charakter haben, muß sozusagen überall voraussetzen, daß das Kind sich in die Welt hereinstellt und alles dasjenige, was es sieht, gerade so zu sich rechnet, wie seinen eigenen Organismus. Gewiß, wenn man in grober Weise unterscheiden will, kann man auf das oder jenes hinweisen, wo das Kind sich unterscheidet von seiner Umgebung; aber die feinere Ausbildung kann man nicht haben, wenn man nicht alles wirklich belebt, wenn man nicht alles zu einem Gleichnis macht, nicht zu einem toten, sondern zu einem lebendigen Gleichnis macht, was man dem Kinde über Leben und Tod zwischen dem siebenten und neunten Jahre beibringt.

Zwischen dem neunten und zehnten Lebensjahre tritt etwas außerordentlich Wichtiges für das Kind ein. Das Kind lernt eigentlich erst dann sich von seiner Umgebung richtig unterscheiden. In diesem Lebensjahr können wir dem Kinde eigentlich erst die vom Menschen unabhängige Pflanzen- oder Tieresnatur wirklich nahebringen. Aber da geht überhaupt etwas sehr Erhebliches in der Kindesnatur vor. Und da handelt es sich darum, daß der Lehrer oder Erzieher tatsächlich zu beobachten versteht, wie es bei dem einen Kinde früher, bei dem anderen etwas später kommt; da geht im tiefsten Gemüte des Kindes etwas vor. Es wird ein anderes Wesen. Es lernt sich gefühlsmäßig, nicht durch Begriffe, von der Welt unterscheiden. Wenn man den Zeitpunkt in der richtigen Weise beobachtet, dadurch, daß man das rechte Wort, das rechte Verhalten gerade zwischen dem neunten und zehnten Jahre findet, kann man dadurch etwas tun, was dann für das ganze Leben des Kindes von ungeheurer Wichtigkeit ist. Man kann in diesem Zeitabschnitte des kindlichen Lebens etwas zur Verödung bringen, so daß das Kind unter Zweifeln, unter innerer Verödung, unter innerer Unbefriedigtheit das ganze Leben hindurchgeht. Oder aber man kann, wenn man selber die innere Lebendigkeit hat, wenn man so viel Mitgefühl hat, daß man in der richtigen Weise diesen Zeitpunkt auffaßt, daß man gewissermaßen in das kindliche Wesen untertaucht und aus dem Kinde selbst heraus die richtigen Worte, das richtige Tun findet, dann kann man für das Kind ungeheuer Bedeutsames in diesem wichtigsten Zeitpunkte tun. Und auf die Beobachtung der richtigen Zeitpunkte im kindlichen Lebensalter für das oder jenes, auf dieses kommt es bei so etwas, wie es die Waldorfschul-Pädagogik und -Didaktik ist, besonders an.

Von diesem Zeitpunkt an ist durchaus die Möglichkeit vorhanden, an das Kind schon dasjenige heranzubringen, was einfache Beschreibung von Pflanzen, einfache Beschreibung von Tieren ist und so weiter; während man vorher das alles gleichnismäßig behandeln muß. Und zwischen dem elften und zwölften Jahre, eigentlich erst um das zwölfte Lebensjahr herum beginnt die Möglichkeit, dem Kinde dasjenige beizubringen, was dann Gegenstand des Physikalischen, des Unorganischen ist. Erst da, nachdem das Kind alles dasjenige innerlich aufgenommen hat, was es so recht ins Leben hineinstellt, erst da kann man dann durch das Lebendige hindurch auf das Unlebendige hinweisen.

Und so führt man das Kind - ich erwähne nur einzelne charakteristische Dinge, die ich mehr beispielsweise herausgreife - bis zu demjenigen Alter, mit dem auch in der Regel die Volksschule abschließt, zum Alter der Geschlechtsreife.

Was wird heute alles über die Geschlechtsreife diskutiert, philosophiert, psychoanalysiert und so weiter. Dasjenige aber, um was es sich handelt, ist, daß man sieht: geradeso wie mit dem Zahnwechsel ein wichtiger Lebensabschnitt dasteht, so steht mit der Geschlechtsreife ein wichtiger Lebensabschnitt da. Die Geschlechtsreife selbst ist nur ein Glied in einer Metamorphose, die vieles, das ganze Menschliche in diesem Lebensalter umfaßt. Was beim Kinde durch den Zahnwechsel aufgetreten ist, das ist, daß seine inneren Seelenkräfte frei geworden sind, die früher im Organismus gewirkt haben. Zwischen dem siebenten und etwa dem vierzehnten Jahre hat man es zu tun mit dem, was man so recht aus dem Kinde entwickeln kann auf die Art, wie ich heute davon gesprochen habe. Mit der Geschlechtsreife tritt das Kind in dasjenige Lebensalter ein, wo es gewissermaßen erst in der richtigen Weise der Außenwelt gegenüber urteilsfähig auftritt. Während es früher sein eigenes Wesen aus den Tiefen seines Organismus heraus an die Oberfläche gebracht hat, wird es jetzt fähig, das Geistige der Welt als solches aufzunehmen, Das ist eines der größten Erziehungsprobleme, und auch eines der bedeutendsten Probleme einer wirklichen lebenskräftigen Didaktik, wie man das Kind zu erziehen hat zwischen dem siebenten und vierzehnten Jahre, um es in einer ganz selbstverständlichen Weise heranzubringen an das Alter, wo es eigentlich erst zu einem selbständigen, individuellen Verhalten zur Welt, zu dem Verhalten, das in der geschlechtlichen Liebe eben nur einen Ausschnitt hat, bringen kann. Dasjenige, was in der geschlechtlichen Liebe, in der Liebe zu einem anderen Menschen hervortritt, das ist eben nur ein Glied in dem gesamten sozialen Leben des Menschen.

Wir müssen den Menschen dazu bringen, daß er sein Inneres so weit reif macht, daß er nun mit Interesse die Dinge der Außenwelt verfolgt, daß er nicht an den Dingen vorübergeht, zu denen er in Liebe sich hingetan fühlen soll. Wir müssen den Menschen zum sozialen Wesen entwickeln bis zur Geschlechtsreife hin. Wir müssen den Menschen aber auch in einer gewissen Weise zum frommen Wesen entwickeln, fromm nicht im muckerischen Sinne, sondern in dem Sinne, daß der Mensch tatsächlich jenen Ernst in sich entwickelt, durch den er hineinwächst in ein Leben, das überall das äußerliche Sinnlich-Physische von dem Geistigen durchdrungen weiß; das nicht sich begnügt an der Beobachtung des bloßen äußerlich Physisch-Sinnlichen, sondern das die geistigen Grundlagen überall zu sehen vermag.

Wir müssen dem Menschen in der Zeit, in der er uns sein eigenes Wesen entgegenbringt und an unsere Autorität glaubt, in uns selbst das entgegentragen, was für ihn gewissermaßen die Welt ist. Hat er in uns eine Welt gefunden, indem wir seine Lehrer und Erzieher sind, dann steht er in der richtigen Weise vorbereitet zum frommen, vorbereitet zum sozialen Wesen vor der Welt. Wir entlassen ihn aus unserer Autorität, die für ihn die Welt gab, in die Welt selber.

Ich deute mit wenigen Worten eines der bedeutsamsten Erkenntnisprobleme an. Wer ein Kind zu früh zum Urteil entwickelt, zum selbständigen Urteilen, der bringt Todeskräfte statt lebendige Kräfte in das sich entwickelnde Kind hinein. Allein derjenige, der mit seiner Autorität so wirkt, daß er dem Kinde wirklich den selbstverständlichen Glauben erweckt, er tue das Richtige und er sage das Richtige, und es dürfe hingenommen werden, wer also in diesem Sinne der Repräsentant der Welt ist für das Kind, der bereitet es nicht durch Beherrschung seines Verstandes, nicht durch Beherrschung irgendwelcher Urteilsfähigkeiten, sondern der bereitetes durch seinen lebendigen Menschen selber darauf vor, an der Welt nun wie ein lebendiger Mensch sich weiter zu entfalten. Leben muß an Leben entwickelt werden. Nicht indem wir von abstrakter Anschaulichkeit, von abstrakten intellektualistischen Begriffen ausgehen, sondern indem wir dem Kinde entgegenbringen eine Welt in einem lebendigen Menschen, machen wir es zu einem wirklichen Weltbürger.

Das alles läßt sich in einigen Strichen ja charakterisieren, aber es setzt eben voraus, daß man in die Einzelheiten der sich entwickelnden Kindeskräfte, ich möchte sagen, von Tag zu Tag hineinschauen kann. Dann wirkt die Art und Weise, wie man selber irgend etwas durch die Türe in die Klasse hineinträgt so, daß das Kind in der Tat an dem Leben des Erziehenden, des Lehrenden sich heraufrankt zum eigenen Leben. Dann braucht man auch nicht solch Dilettantisches etwa zu sagen wie: Das Lernen soll den Kindern Freude machen. - Das sagen ja heute viele. Man versuche es nur einmal, wie weit man mit solch einem abstrakten Grundsatz kommt! Das Lernen kann in vielen Beziehungen den Kindern nicht Freude machen; aber man soll durch dasjenige, was man an Leben hineinbringt in die Arbeit der Schule, die Kinder so heranerziehen, daß sie auch an dasjenige, was ihnen nicht Freude macht, mit einer gewissen Neugierde, mit einer gewissen Wißbegierde herantreten, daß ihnen die ganze Art und Weise wie der Lehrer vorgeht, eine Vorbereitung dafür ist, was sie durch ihn wissen können.

Dann kommt es zur selbstverständlichen Entwickelung des Pflichtgefühles. Damit weisen wir aber auf etwas, was überhaupt viel tiefer noch liegt als innerhalb des bloßen Erziehungsgebietes. Damit weisen wir auf etwas hin, wo eine wirklich aus einem geistigen Untergrunde hervorgeschöpfte Pädagogik und Didaktik unmittelbar in eine Befruchtung unseres gesamten Kulturlebens ausreifen kann.

Wir verehren ganz gewiß in Schiller und Goethe tonangebende Geister, und demjenigen, der sich durch mehr als vierzig Jahre, wie ich, mit Goethe und mit Schiller beschäftigt hat und manches über die beiden geschrieben hat, dem werden Sie nicht zumuten, daß er nicht mit voller, innigster, wärmster Anerkennung diesen Geistern gegenübersteht. Allein eines ist es, auf das ich hier in diesem Zusammenhange aufmerksam machen möchte.

Als Schiller, nachdem er sich zuerst entfernt hatte von Goethe aus allerlei menschlichen Gründen, in den neunziger Jahren des 18. Jahrhunderts Goethe dann in inniger Freundschaft nahetrat, da schrieb Schiller seine berühmten, aber leider heute viel zuwenig gelesenen und studierten «Briefe über die ästhetische Erziehung des Menschen». Er schrieb sie unter dem Eindruck dessen, wie Goethe arbeitete, wie Goethe dachte, wie Goethe sich in der Welt verhielt. In diesen Briefen über ästhetische Erziehung befindet sich ein merkwürdiger Satz: Der Mensch ist nur dann ganz Mensch, wenn er spielt, und er spielt nur, wenn er im vollsten Sinne des Wortes Mensch ist. - Schiller will damit hinweisen darauf, wie das äußere Leben den Menschen im Grunde genommen in eine Art Sklavenzustand versetzt, wie der Mensch unter der äußeren Lebensnotwendigkeit seufzt, wie er gewissermaßen untertauchen muß unter etwas, das ihn ins Joch zwingt, während er nur als Verrichter des Künstlerischen, als Schöpfer des Künstlerischen, als künstlerisch Genießender seinen eigenen Antrieben folgt; wenn er etwa sich so verhält wie das spielende Kind, das dasjenige, was es verrichtet, nur aus innerstem Lebenstriebe heraus tut. Schön ist es, wunderschön und echt menschlich gedacht, was Schiller in diesen ästhetischen Briefen vorbringt.

Allein es zeigt doch auf der anderen Seite nur, daß, indem die moderne naturwissenschaftliche Kultur, die moderne technische Kultur heraufrückte, solch auserlesene Geister wie Goethe und Schiller für die rechte Würdigung des Menschen glaubten die Anforderung stellen zu müssen, der Mensch müsse aus dem Leben heraus, er müsse gewissermaßen aus der Arbeit heraus ins Spiel herein, um voll Mensch zu werden. Wir fühlen heute, wenn wir die sozialen Verhältnisse, die uns das 20. Jahrhundert geschaffen hat ins Auge fassen, ganz anders dem Leben gegenüber. Wir fühlen: wir haben die unendliche Last der Schwere auf uns, die ja davon herkommt, daß wir begreifen lernen müssen, wie jeder Mensch sich in die Arbeit des Lebens hineinstellen müsse, wie das Leben lebenswert sein muß in sozialer Beziehung, in individuell menschlicher Beziehung, indem wir uns nicht in das Spiel bloß, indem wir uns in die Arbeit in einer menschenwürdigen Weise hineinfinden. Deshalb beginnt heute die soziale Frage bei der Erziehungs-, bei der Unterrichtsfrage, weil wir lehren müssen, weil wir erziehen müssen in dem Sinne, daß der Mensch zum Arbeiter wird, weil wir den Pflichtbegriff schon in der Schule in der richtigen, in der selbstverständlichen Weise, nicht durch Ermahnungen und Predigten, heranerziehen müssen. Das können wir nur auf eine solche Art, wie das angedeutet worden ist aus einer richtigen, mit guter Grundlage versehenen Menschenerkenntnis heraus.

Da begründen wir dann wahre Arbeitsschulen, nicht Schulen, in denen etwa der Grundsatz aufgestellt wird, daß man möglichst das Unterrichten und Erziehen in Tändelei verwandeln soll, sondern wo durch das Leben, das die Autorität in die Schule hineinträgt, auch das Schwerste von dem Kinde hingenommen wird, das Kind gerade sich herandrängt zu dem, was zu überwinden ist, nicht zu dem, was es nur gerne tut.

Darauf ist nun auch gerade die pädagogische Grundlage der Waldorfschule angelegt, daß das Kind in der richtigen Weise arbeiten lernt, daß das Kind mit seinem ganzen vollen Menschen herangeführt wird an die Welt, die in sozialer Beziehung die Arbeit fordert, die auf der anderen Seite aber auch fordert, daß der Mensch dem Menschen selbst in der richtigen Weise, und vor allem sich selbst in der richtigen Weise gegenübersteht. Aus diesem Grunde haben wir zum Beispiel in der Waldorfschule neben dem gewöhnlichen Turnen, das aus der Physiologie des Leibes heraus erwachsen ist und in dieser Beziehung außerordentlich günstig wirkt, eingeführt die Eurythmie, welche Leib, Seele und Geist ausbildet, welche eine sichtbare Sprache ist.

Man kann in Dornach kennenlernen, was man unter Eurythmie versteht, wie es tatsächlich, geradeso wie es hörbare Sprachen und den Gesang gibt, so ein Sprechen gibt durch Gesten und Gebärden, nicht durch Mimik, sondern durch regelmäßige, aus der Organisation des Körpers herausgeholte Bewegungen der menschlichen Glieder oder Bewegungen von Menschengruppen, wodurch dasselbe ausgedrückt werden kann, was durch die hörbare Sprache oder den Gesang ausgedrückt wird. Und wir haben in der Waldorfschule in den letzten zwei Jahren durchaus schon sehen können, wie von der untersten bis in die obersten Schulklassen die Kinder, wenn diese Eurythmie richtig gepflegt wird, sich mit derselben Selbstverständlichkeit in sie hineinfinden, wie sich das kleinere Kind in die Sprache hineinfindet.

Ich habe dieses einmal auseinandergesetzt in einer Einleitung zu einer Eurythmieaufführung in Dornach. Da war einer der berühmtesten Physiologen der Gegenwart dabei - wenn ich Ihnen den Namen nennen würde, würden Sie erstaunt sein -, der sagte mir, nachdem ich gesagt hatte: Wir wollen das Turnen nicht verkennen, aber eine zukünftige Zeit wird unbefangener urteilen, wird das geistig-seelische Turnen der Eurythmie in seinem Werte einsehen neben dem gewöhnlichen Turnen der kam zu mir und sagte: Sie haben gesagt, daß sich das Turnen in günstiger Weise in die moderne Erziehung hineinstellt, daß es auf Physiologie begründet ist. Ich als Physiologe sage, das Turnen ist eine Barbarei. — Das sage nicht ich, das sagt einer der berühmtesten Physiologen der Gegenwart.

Gerade so etwas kann einen dazu führen, daß der Satz richtig ist: Das Was bedenke, mehr bedenke Wie. - Man kann wirklich innerlich aufjauchzen manchmal bei demjenigen, was in unseren pädagogischen und didaktischen Handbüchern steht, was die großen Pädagogen geleistet haben; aber man muß das richtige Wie finden, muß finden, wie das richtig Gedachte richtig ins Leben eingeführt werden kann.

Das aber muß gerade der Waldorflehrer jeden Tag aufs neue finden. Denn dasjenige, was Leben haben soll, das muß eben auf Leben begründet sein. Geisteswissenschaft selbst führt den Menschen zuletzt dahin, daß er Wahrheiten durchschaut, welche jeden Tag aufs neue, selbst wenn sie jeden Tag dieselben sind, jeden Tag aufs neue ihn ergreifen. Mit unserem gewöhnlichen, auf die materiellen Dinge bezüglichen Wissen rechnen wir auf die Erinnerung. Was einmal aufgenommen ist, daran erinnert man sich dann, das ruft man hervor aus dem Schatz seines Gedächtnisses. Was man einmal gelernt hat, das hat man, das ist dann mit einem verknüpft. Gewiß, für das gewöhnliche Leben ist das notwendig, daß der Mensch seinen Erinnerungsschatz hat. Aber das Lebendige stimmt nicht überein mit diesem Intellektualistischen. Das Intellektualistische rechnet mit der Erinnerung, das Lebendige nicht, schon auf seinen niederen Gebieten nicht. Bedenken Sie nur einmal, wenn Sie sagen würden: Ich habe ja als kleines Kind gegessen, das ist für das ganze Leben -, so wie Sie sagen: Ich habe als kleines Kind gelernt, das ist für das ganze Leben. - Sie müssen jeden Tag aufs neue essen, weil ein lebendiger Prozeß vorliegt und dasjenige wirklich verarbeitet wird, was im lebendigen Organismus aufgenommen wird. So aber werden auch die geistigen Dinge in lebendiger Weise aufgenommen, und aus diesem lebendigen Geiste heraus muß in einer anthroposophisch orientierten Pädagogik gearbeitet werden.

Das ist es, was ich Ihnen habe schildern wollen in kurzen Strichen, nur hinweisend eben auf dasjenige, was dann in den anthroposophischen Büchern, auch in denjenigen Teilen, die das Pädagogische behandeln, weiter ausgeführt worden ist. Das ist dasjenige, auf das ich Sie habe hinweisen wollen als auf die pädagogische Grundlage der Waldorfschule, dieser von unserem Freunde Emil Molt gegründeten Versuchsschule, die durchaus nicht rebellisch sich hineinstellen will in das pädagogische und didaktische Erziehungswesen der Gegenwart, sondern die nur zur Ausbildung bringen will dasjenige, was freilich in einer mehr abstrakten Weise vielfach angedeutet und gefordert worden ist. Daß aber in unserer Zeit manches wird vertieft werden müssen, das wird derjenige, der unbefangen das Leben, in das die moderne, namentlich die europäische Menschheit allmählich hineingeraten ist, einsehen. Nach der furchtbaren, die schönsten Früchte des Menschlichen zermalmenden Katastrophe vom zweiten Jahrzehnt des 20. Jahrhunderts wird zugegeben werden müssen, daß es wichtig ist, den kommenden Generationen etwas anderes geistig-seelisch und körperlich-physisch mitzugeben, als unsere Zeitgenossen bekommen haben, die es dafür in so vielen Repräsentanten so teuer haben bezahlen müssen. Und derjenige, der wohl am meisten das Recht hat von der Pädagogik, von der Erziehungskunst aus in das Leben hineinzuschauen, der wird einem solchen Streben schon durchaus unbefangen gegenüberstehen können, das ist derjenige, der als Vater oder Mutter zu sorgen hat für seine Söhne oder Töchter. Diejenigen, die die großen katastrophalen Tatsachen des gegenwärtigen Lebens als Eltern kennengelernt haben, die werden ohne Zweifel jeden Versuch begrüßen, der aus tieferen sozialen und geistigen Untergründen heraus der kommenden Generation etwas Besseres sichern will, als es viele in der Gegenwart haben können. Daß diese kommende Generation Besseres haben könne, als man vielfach in der Gegenwart haben kann, das haben vor allen Dingen Grund die Eltern für ihre Kinder zu wünschen, das haben vor allen Dingen die Eltern das Recht von den Lehrern, von den Erziehern zu verlangen. Solch ein Gedanke, solch ein Ideal schwebte uns vor, als wir versuchten, die pädagogische Grundlage der Waldortschule zu legen.

Aus der Diskussion

Frage: Herr Dr. Steiner hat von der Bedeutung der Autorität gesprochen, und das ist so eine Sache, mit der unsere Jugend herzlich wenig zu tun haben will. Jeder Lehrer und nicht zum wenigsten jeder Pfarrer kann das erleben. Wir haben in unserer Jugend so mancherlei Strömungen, es ist ein gewisses Sich-Hinwegbegeben von jeglicher Autorität zu bemerken, sowohl von der Autorität des Elternhauses als von der Autorität der geistigen Welt. Die Eltern haben manchmal das Gefühl: man hat ja da rein nichts mehr dazu zu sagen, man muß die Leute gehen lassen. Auf der anderen Seite sieht man dann auch freilich manchmal, wie die Sache herauskommt und es tut einem weh, daß die Jugend gar nicht immer zu dem Ziele kommt, das sie sucht. Es ist etwas da, was der Jugend das Gefühl zur Autorität verbietet, einen Stachel gegen sie eingepflanzt hat. - Vielleicht ist Herr Dr. Steiner so freundlich und sagt uns etwas darüber, woher es kommt, daß es bei unserer Jugend so eigentümlich gärt, daß sie gar nicht mehr zufrieden ist, ganz besonders gern schimpft; und daß wir eben nicht mehr recht an die Jugend herankommen, das tut uns leid. Ich habe schon manches Buch darüber studiert, aber den Weg, der eigentlich gangbar ist, den habe ich noch nicht in irgendeinem Buch gefunden. Und so hätte ich gerne, wenn Herr Dr. Steiner etwas sagen würde, was den Einblick gestattet in die Jugendseele.

Dr. Steiner: Das ist natürlich ein Kapitel, das einen Vortrag in Anspruch nehmen würde, wenn man es erschöpfend behandeln wollte, der mindestens ebenso lange sein müßte wie derjenige, den ich zu meinem Leidwesen in solcher Länge eben habe halten müssen, nicht zu meinem Leidwesen seiner Absicht nach, sondern es tut mir leid, daß Sie so lange haben zuhören müssen! Aber wenigstens ein paar Worte wollte ich an die Bemerkungen des Herrn Vorredners anknüpfen.

Sehen Sie, ich habe wirklich versucht, in meinem doch jetzt schon nicht mehr kurzen Leben gerade solche Dinge zu verfolgen, wie sie der Herr Vorredner eben angeschlagen hat. Ich habe auf der einen Seite wirklich kennengelernt, was es heißt, wenn man einmal durchgemacht hat in seiner Kindheit, daß zum Beispiel gesprochen worden ist von einem verehrten Verwandten, den man bis dahin nicht gesehen hatte, es ist einem viel von ihm erzählt worden, man hat alles dasjenige kennengelernt, wie die Leute, mit denen man selbst jeden Tag als mit seinen Eltern, Erziehern aufwächst, an diesen verehrten Verwandten denken. Ich habe es kennengelernt, was es heißt, das erste Mal hingeführt zu werden zu einem solchen verehrten Verwandten und mit heiliger Scheu die Türklinke in die Hand genommen zu haben. So etwas zu erleben, ist etwas, was einem das ganze Leben hindurch als ein Wichtiges bleibt. Und es gibt im Leben kein wirklicher Menschenwürde entsprechendes Freiheitsgefühl, das nicht auf der Grundlage einer solchen Ehrfurcht und Verehrung in der Kindheit aufgebaut ist.

Ich habe allerdings auch etwas anderes gesehen. Ich habe in Berlin eine sehr berühmt gewordene Sozialistin kennengelernt, die viele sozialistische Reden gehalten hat. Eines Tages las ich von ihr auch einen Artikel in einer sonst ganz angesehenen Zeitung, der überschrieben war: «Die Revolution der Kinder.» Und da wird entwickelt in einer ganz sozialistischen Weise, wie, nachdem die älteren Leute alle Revolution gemacht haben oder wenigstens von der Revolution reden, nun auch die Kinder von der Revolution reden sollten, also die Kinder Revolution machen sollten. Und es war sogar nicht einmal ganz deutlich zu entnehmen, ob nicht auch schon vor dem schulpflichtigen Alter stehende Kinder gemeint waren. Das ist ein anderes Beispiel für das, was man in den letzten Jahrzehnten auf diesem Gebiete erleben konnte.

Ein drittes Beispiel ist, daß ich von einem Pädagogen die ernstgemeinten Vorschläge lesen konnte, daß in der Schule vorgezeichnete Bücher aufliegen sollten, in welche am Ende, ich glaube einer Woche oder eines Monats, die Schüler einschreiben sollten, wie sie über ihre Lehrer denken. Das Ganze lief darauf hinaus, daß eine Zukunft erstrebt werde, wo eigentlich nicht die Lehrer die Schüler, sondern die Schüler die Lehrer zensurieren sollen.

Nun, alle diese Dinge kann man nicht in der richtigen Weise beurteilen, wenn man sie nicht im Zusammenhange mit unserem ganzen Leben betrachtet. Und vielleicht wird Ihnen auch das paradox erscheinen, aber ich glaube doch, daß man gerade die angeregte Frage in einem größeren Zusammenhange wird beantworten müssen. Sehen Sie, wir haben allmählich durch die andererseits so großartige naturwissenschaftlich-technische Kultur, die aber notwendig durch ihre eigene Wesenheit nach dem Intellektualistischen hinneigt, wir haben allmählich verloren die wirkliche Durchdringung der Menschenseele mit dem lebendig Geistigen. Was der Mensch heute unter dem Geistigen sich gewöhnlich vorstellt, das sind ja nur Begriffe und Ideen, das sind ja eigentlich nur Vorstellungen von irgendeinem Geistigen. Die tonangebendsten Philosophen reden, indem sie Begriffsdeduktionen machen, so vom Geistigen. Das ist dasjenige, was gerade anthroposophische Geisteswissenschaft überwinden will. Sie will nicht, daß der Mensch nur vom Geiste rede, das Geistige in Begriffe und Vorstellungen hineinbringe, sondern sie will, daß der Mensch gerade mit dem lebendigen Geistigen sich durchdringe. Wenn der Mensch aber sich mit diesem lebendig Geistigen durchdringt, dann kommt er sehr bald darauf, daß wir nach und nach dieses lebendige Geistige verloren haben, und daß wir heute gar sehr nötig haben, zu diesem lebendigen Geistigen auch als erwachsene Menschen wiederum zurückzukehren. Wir haben ja das lebendige Geistige als erwachsene Menschen besonders dann nicht, wenn wir so recht aufgeklärte sind. Dann sind wir höchstens Agnostiker, dann sagen wir höchstens: die Naturwissenschaft kann bis zu einem gewissen Punkte kommen, da aber sind die Grenzen der Naturerkenntnis. Daß an diesen Grenzen erst das Ringen mit der Erkenntnis beginnt, und dieses Ringen dann durch das Leben in die geistige Welt hineinführt, davon hat ja die heutige Bildung im Grunde genommen nicht viel Ahnung.

Und was ist dadurch gekommen, oder wodurch ist das gekommen, daß wir aus unserem Sprechen den Geist verloren haben? Sie können heute Unzähliges lesen und Sie werden finden: im Grunde genommen hat man es nur mit Worten zu tun, die eigentlich mehr oder weniger automatisch aus den menschlichen Seelen abrollen. Wer heute mit ein wenig Unbefangenheit das geistige Leben kennt, der braucht oftmals von einem Artikel oder von einem Buche nur die ersten Zeilen zu lesen, oder die ersten Seiten, und er weiß, was der Betreffende über die betreffenden Fragen denkt; denn er denkt dasjenige, was sich aus der Entwickelung der Worte von selbst ergibt. Es verwandelt sich das Leben, wenn es den Geist verliert, in ein Leben in der Phrase, und das ist dasjenige, was wir heute in unserem Kulturleben so vielfach haben. Wir haben nicht den lebendigen Geist, der aus dem ganzen vollen Menschen spricht, sondern wir haben vielfach, wenn wir vom geistigen Leben reden oder im geistigen Leben drinnenstehen wollen, die Phrase. Aber nicht nur etwa in dem Sinne wie viele denken, sondern vor allen Dingen ist die Phrase in dem gloriosen öffentlichen Unterricht, den wir haben. Ich bitte, denken Sie nur einmal nach, wie viel von Leben bei dieser oder jener Partei ist, die die schönsten Parteiphrasen hat. Die Leute berauschen sich an Parteiphrasen. Dadurch wird vielleicht dem Intellekt allerdings eine gewisse Befriedigung gebracht, aber das ergreift nicht das Leben. Und so muß man sagen, dasjenige, was gerade in der Kulmination des Agnostizismus sich zeigt, der schon allmählich auch in die breitesten Schichten eingedrungen ist, das ist reichlich von Phrase durchsetzt. Wir wollen in unserem heutigen Leben zum Beispiel, weil wir in der Phrase leben, gar nicht mehr das Lebendige des Wortes, weil das Wort nicht tief genug aus unserer Seele herauskommt. Darinnen kann nur Wandel geschaffen werden, wenn wir uns wiederum mit dem Geistigen durchdringen. Ich habe vor vierzehn Tagen für unsere Zeitschrift «Das Goetheanum» einen Aufsatz geschrieben: «Das verschüttete Geistesleben»; ich habe aufmerksam darauf gemacht, welch Großartiges man lesen kann bei Leuten, die, sagen wir, um die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts noch geschrieben haben. Das wissen die wenigsten Menschen. Ich habe einigen Persönlichkeiten die Bücher gezeigt, auf die ich mich da berufen habe, und diese Bücher, die schauen wirklich so aus, als wenn sie ein Jahrzehnt fortwährend beguckt worden wären und nachher durch den Staub gezogen worden wären. Da haben mich die Leute gefragt: Woher haben Sie denn diese Bücher entnommen? - Ja, sagte ich, ich habe ja so die Gewohnheit, manchmal bei Antiquaren zu schmökern und da lasse ich mir die entsprechenden Kataloge geben und sage, bitte, bringen Sie mir die Bücher an die und die Stelle heran. Und da habe ich allerlei Dinge gefunden, die einfach heute Vergessene sind, auch nicht wieder neu gedruckt werden, die einem aber den Beweis liefern, daß tatsächlich das Leben im Geiste in einem gewissen Maße verschüttet ist.

Sehen Sie, die Naturwissenschaft, die kann nicht in Phrase verfallen, aus einem sehr einfachen Grunde: sie ist an das Experiment, an die Beobachtung gebunden, sie ist als Experiment rein geistige Tatsache, ordnet sich in Gesetzmäßigkeiten ein. Aber sonst sind wir allmählich in ein Leben der Phrase hineingekommen. Und dieses Leben in der Phrase ist eine Begleiterscheinung der großen Einseitigkeiten der naturwissenschaftlich-technischen Entwickelung. Dieses Leben in der Phrase ist es, dem man neben vielem anderen Unglücklichen in unserer Zeit auch dasjenige zuschreiben muß, was der Herr Vorredner angeführt hat. Das Kind hat nämlich durchaus ein imponderables Verhältnis zu den Erwachsenen. Die Erwachsenen mögen sich insbesondere in Parteiversammlungen mit Phrasen unterhalten, wenn man aber dem Kinde Phrasen bietet, dann kann es nicht mit. Und was geschieht dann, wenn man dem Kinde Phrasen bietet, ganz gleichgültig, ob man eine religiöse oder naturwissenschaftliche oder aufklärerische Phrase bietet, was geschieht? Es geschieht dann dasjenige, daß die Seele keinen Inhalt bekommt. Denn die Phrase wird kein Inhalt der Seele. Und dann kommen aus den Untergründen die Instinkte. Und so wie heute im äußeren sozialen Leben im Osten, wo man begründen wollte im Leninismus, Trotzkiismus ein Reich der Phrase, denn es ist nur ein Reich der Phrase; wie, da diese Phrasen nicht schöpferisch sind, die wüstesten Instinkte aus den Untergründen herauskommen, so kommt auch bei der Jugend dasjenige heraus, was die Instinkte sind. Diese Instinkte sind gar nicht einmal immer krankhaft; sie beweisen uns aber einfach, daß das Alter nicht verstanden hat, in die Phrase Seele hineinzulegen. Im Grunde genommen ist unsere Jugendfrage heute schon in einem gewissen Sinne eine Altersfrage, eine Elternfrage. Wir stehen eben der Jugend, wir stehen dem Kinde zu stark so gegenüber, daß wir furchtbar gescheit sind und die Kinder die furchtbar dummen sind. Während derjenige oftmals der weiseste Mensch ist, der von einem Kinde am meisten lernen kann. Man steht dem Kinde in einer ganz anderen Weise gegenüber, wenn man ihm nicht phrasenhaft gegenübersteht. Und so wächst uns diejenige Jugend entgegen, der wir selber keine Seele entgegengebracht haben. Daß wir bei der Jugend selber nicht die Verirrungen suchen dürfen, das, meine sehr verehrten Anwesenden, zeigt uns in vieler Beziehung dennoch die kurze Zeit, in der die Waldorfschule wirkt.

Sie haben gesehen, die Waldorfschul-Pädagogik beruht ja vorzugsweise auf der Lehrerfrage. Und ich muß gestehen, es liegt schon etwas in dem: jedesmal, wenn ich nach Stuttgart komme - leider nicht oft, ich kann die Schule ja eigentlich nur ganz sporadisch leiten und besuchen -, in jeder Klasse stelle ich, ohne daß ich dabei den Kindern langweilig werde, in irgendeinem Zusammenhang die Frage: Kinder, habt ihr eure Lehrer gern? - Sie sollten hören und sehen, wie die Kinder im Chorus begeistert antworten: Ja! - Und dieses Appellieren an dasjenige, was die Lehrer an Liebe den Kindern entgegenbringen können, es ist das, was schon hineingehört in das Verhalten der Alten gegen die Jugend. Und da kann ich auch sagen: wir haben die Schule gleich als eine vollständige Volksschule errichtet, so daß wir die volle Schulzeit die Kinder aus dem Elternhause bekommen. Ja, es konnte einem manchmal angst und bange werden, wenn man in die Schule hineinkam und nun, namentlich in den Zwischenstunden, diese Disziplin beobachten konnte. Leute, die mit dem Urteil schnell fertig sind, sagten: Da sieht man, was eine freie Waldorfschule ist; die Kinder werden ja alle undiszipliniert. Ja, sehen Sie, die Kinder sind zu uns gekommen aus den anderen Schulen; die waren mit dem, was man eiserne Strenge nennt, erzogen. Jetzt sind ja die Kinder schon viel ruhiger, aber als sie zu uns gekommen sind, noch die eiserne Strenge in sich hatten, da waren sie schon wirklich richtige Rangen. Brav waren eigentlich nur die Kinder der ersten Klasse, die direkt vom Elternhaus kamen; aber das auch nicht immer. Aber jedesmal wenn ich hinkomme, bemerke ich einen Fortschritt gerade in der Disziplin. Und jetzt, nach etwas mehr als zwei Jahren, kann man die große Umwandlung sehen. Die Kinder werden ganz gewiß keine Mukker, werden aber einfach dadurch, daß sie wissen, sie können sich an ihre Lehrer vertrauensvoll wenden, wenn das oder jenes passiert ist, sie werden in dieser oder jener Weise behandelt, man geht ein auf das oder jenes bei ihnen, sie werden zutraulich, sie wandeln sich auch, sie werden nicht muckerig, sie sind laut und alles mögliche; aber dasjenige, was man an Disziplin fordern kann, das entwickelt sich allmählich. Und es entwickelt sich auch dasjenige, was ich im Vortrage selbstverständliches Autoritätsgefühl genannt habe.

Es ist wirklich wunderschön, wenn man zum Beispiel hört: da ist ein Schüler in die Waldorfschule gekommen, er war bereits vierzehn Jahre alt, war in der höchsten Klasse und kam eigentlich als ein recht unbefriedigter Junge herein. Er konnte nicht mehr an seine alte Schule glauben, aber natürlich in ein paar Tagen bietet einem auch eine neue Schule nichts. Die Schule ist ein Ganzes, und wenn man aus einem Gemälde ein Stück herausschneidet, so kann man ja danach doch nicht das ganze Gemälde beurteilen. Die Leute glauben zum Beispiel, die Schule zu kennen, wenn sie sie auf ein bis zwei Tage besuchen. Das ist ein Unsinn; man lernt nicht die anthroposophische Methode kennen, wenn man von ihr ein Stückchen herausnimmt: man muß den ganzen Geist kennen. $o war es natürlich auch für den Jungen, der da hineinkam, daß von dem, was ihm in den ersten Tagen entgegentrat, ihn nicht gleich irgend etwas befriedigte, besonders nachdem er unbefriedigt herangekommen ist. Da stellte sich nun aber nach einiger Zeit heraus, daß er zu seinem Geschichtslehrer gegangen ist, er hat sich an ihn gewendet, weil der ihm furchtbar imponierte - und er hat ihm nun sein Leid geklagt. Nachher war er wie umgewandelt. Solches ist nur durch dieses selbstverständliche Autoritätsverhältnis möglich. Sehen Sie, das sind die Dinge, die dann durchaus deutlich zutage treten, wenn das, was ich hier meinte unter «selbstverständlicher Autorität» durch die Qualitäten der Lehrer wirklich bewirkt wird. Ich glaube nicht, daß es verfrüht ist, wenn ich sage: aus der Jugend, die durch die Waldorfschule geht, wird jener Geist nicht sprechen, den der Herr Vorredner vorhin angedeutet hat. Es handelt sich schon darum, daß die Lehrer die sind, die in erster Linie das Unberechtigte dieses Jugenddranges wiederum in die richtigen Bahnen leiten müssen.

Nun, wir haben in der Waldorfschule in anderer Weise, als man das gewöhnlich so gewohnt ist, die Lehrerkonferenzen. In den Lehrerkonferenzen wird eigentlich jedes einzelne Kind behandelt, aber in psychologischer Weise. Und wir alle haben in den zwei Jahren WaldorfschulPädagogik außerordentlich viel gelernt. Es ist tatsächlich ein lebendiger Organismus, dieses Lehren und Erziehen und Unterrichten.

Wir hätten ja gar nicht die Möglichkeit gehabt unsere Waldorfschule zu begründen, wenn wir nicht auf gewisse Kompromisse eingegangen wären. Ich habe daher gleich beim Beginn der Waldorfschule für das Ministerium ein Memorandum ausgearbeitet, worinnen ich gesagt habe: Wir verpflichten uns, die Kinder mit dem neunten Jahre so weit zu haben, daß sie in jede andere Schule übertreten können; dann wiederum mit dem zwölften Jahr und wiederum mit dem vierzehnten Jahr. Aber in der Zwischenzeit wollen wir für die Methodik vollkommene Freiheit haben. Das ist zwar ein Kompromiß, aber man muß eben mit dem Gegebenen rechnen. Dennoch aber, in gewissen Dingen konnten wir das durchführen, was einfach für eine gesunde Pädagogik und Didaktik selbstverständlich ist: das ist zum Beispiel das Zeugniswesen. Sehen Sie, ich habe es ja in meiner Jugend auch erfahren, daß dasteht im Zeugnis: «fast lobenswert», «kaum befriedigend» und so weiter. Aber ich bin nie darauf gekommen, durch welche Weisheit die Herren Lehrer darauf kamen, von «kaum befriedigend» ein «fast befriedigend» zu unterscheiden, das ist mir bis jetzt nicht aufgegangen. Entschuldigen Sie, aber es ist so. Statt solcher Zensuren stellen wir Zeugnisse aus, welche in den Worten, die dem Lehrer vom Schnabel gewachsen sind, gegenüber dem Kinde sich aussprechen, die keine Zahlen haben und dadurch Phrase sind gegenüber dem Kinde. Denn wenn etwas keinen Sinn hat, so ist es eben Phrase. Wenn das Kind langsam in das Leben hineinwächst, so schreibt der Lehrer in das Zeugnis dasjenige auf, was für das Kind speziell notwendig ist; so daß für jedes Kind etwas anderes dasteht - eine Art Charakteristik des Kindes. Und dann geben wir jedem Kinde, wenn das Schuljahr aus ist, einen Spruch mit, der ihm entspricht. Nun nimmt es allerdings etwas Zeit, bis jedes Kind in der Weise sein Zeugnis bekommt. Das Kind nimmt es in die Hand, hat einen Spiegel vor sich. Ich habe bisher noch kein Kind gefunden, das nicht mit Interesse sein Zeugnis in die Hand genommen hätte, selbst wenn nicht alles besonders gelobt wurde. Und besonders der Geleitspruch ist etwas, was dann dem Kinde etwas sein kann. Sehen Sie, man muß alle Mittel anwenden, um dann bei den Kindern die Empfindung hervorzurufen, daß diejenigen, die sie leiten und erziehen, in ernsthafter Weise, nicht einseitig, sondern so, daß ein unmittelbares Interesse da ist für das Kind, die Zeugnisse ausstellen. Also es liegt schon viel an dem, daß unsere Kultur, unsere Phrasenkultur, allmählich aus dem Alten sich herausentwickle, und daß, indem die Jugend heranwächst, man ihr das richtige Verständnis entgegenbringt. Ich weiß auch natürlich, daß das mit gewissen Kräften der Volkspsychologie zusammenhängt; allein, die zu meistern ist nämlich noch schwieriger.

Bei keinem der verschiedenen Kongresse, die wir in letzter Zeit gehabt haben, hat eigentlich gefehlt - Sie mögen erstaunt sein — eine gewisse Anzahl von dieser oder jener Gruppe aus der Jugendbewegung. Es kamen immer eine gewisse Anzahl derjenigen Leute, die man «Wandervögel» und so weiter nennt. Die kamen alle zu uns, und ich habe mir nie ein Blatt vor den Mund genommen. Aber die Leute sahen, ich spreche zu ihnen nicht Phrasen; ich spreche zu ihnen dasjenige, auch wenn es etwas ganz anderes ist, als sie sich in ihren träumenden Köpfen zurechtgelegt haben, was nun eben auch aus dem Herzen kommt, ihr Wirklichkeitswert kommt aus dem Herzen. Und vor allen Dingen bei unserem letzten Stuttgarter Kongreß, wo wiederum eine Anzahl Leute aus dieser Jugendbewegung da waren, die sonst nun wirklich nicht darauf aus sind, auf irgendeine Autorität etwas zu geben, Leute die da sagen: Es muß alles aus dem Inneren heraus wachsen, von selber wachsen und so weiter, da ließen sie sich nicht dreinreden -, bei dem letzten Kongreß in Stuttgart wurde einstimmig beschlossen, sogar eine anthroposophische Jugendgruppe zu gründen, nachdem man eineinhalb oder zwei Stunden konferiert hatte.

Es handelt sich tatsächlich darum, wie die Alten der Jugend entgegenkommen. Ich kann nicht anders als aus einer Erfahrung heraus, die sich mir aber in zahlreichen Fällen bestätigt hat, auseinandersetzen, daß ich eben darauf hinweise: die Jugendfrage von heute ist vielfach eine Altenfrage. Wir werden vielleicht die Frage der Jugendbewegung am besten beantworten, wenn wir weniger auf die Jugend schauen, sondern ein bißchen in uns selber hinein.

X: Es sei einem Jungen erlaubt, zu sprechen. Man möge mir verzeihen, wenn ich vielleicht ein starkes Wort gebrauche: Wir haben sozusagen keine Autoritäten mehr, wir Jungen. Und warum? Weil sie unsere Eltern auch nicht haben. Wenn wir mit Eltern reden oder auch mit älteren Menschen, so finden wir immer aus ihren Worten heraus, daß sie keine Ehrfurcht vor den Menschen haben, daß sie immer an einer Kleinigkeit herumkritisieren und daß sie sozusagen sich selber damit in ein schlechtes Licht setzen. Wir Jungen haben überhaupt von unseren Erziehern den Eindruck, daß sie manchmal wandelnde Kompromisse geworden seien und daß sie sich nicht entscheiden, auf eine bestimmte Seite zu stehen und aus ihrem vollsten Herzen heraus zu sagen: Ich meine es so und ich stehe dazu. - Man weiß nie recht, geht es auf die eine Seite oder auf die andere Seite hinaus. Und immer haben wir dann dieses Gefühl von unseren Eltern oder Erziehern, daß sie eigentlich die Jugend nicht charakterisieren wollen, sondern beurteilen und bekritteln. Wenn ich daran denke, wie wir in unserem Jugendkreise miteinander arbeiten und was uns für Dinge in die Hände kommen - ich werde nun zwei ganz charakteristische Dinge herausgreifen: wir haben einmal miteinander Blüchner und Morgenstern gelesen. Da muß man sich nur diese Gegensätze vorstellen. Und so kommt es alle Tage; bei uns stürzen sich die Dinge auf uns los, und es ist nirgendwo ein Mittelpunkt, an den wir uns halten können. Es steht gar nirgends, wenn es auch kein Gedanke wäre, so doch ein Mensch, ein wirklich lebender Mensch da. Wie kann man denn unterrichten, wenn nicht sozusagen hinter den Dingen ein lebender Mensch steht, dem man es anfühlt, wenn er doziert..... Dann wären wir von der Sache begeistert. Aber solange unsere Erzieher uns nicht entgegentreten als Mensch, der sich vor uns nicht scheut sich selber auszulachen, so können wir einfach nicht das nötige Vertrauen zu ihm haben. Wir Jungen, ich kann das aus eigener Überzeugung sagen, suchen nach einer Autorität. Wir suchen einen Mittelpunkt, einen Haltepunkt, an dem wir uns hochranken können und an dem wir in ein Leben hineinwachsen können, das ein wirkliches Innenleben ist. Und darum stürzt sich unsere Jugend auf alles Neue, das erscheint; sie hofft, sie werde einmal etwas erhaschen, das ihr etwas sein könne. Aber wenn sie etwas erhascht, so ist es nur eine große Wirrnis von Meinungen, Ansichten, von Urteilen, die keine Urteile sind, sondern höchstens ein Aburteilen.

Wenn ich dem ersten Redner etwas sagen darf: Er hat nach einem Buch gefragt, worinnen man lesen könne, warum es bei der Jugend so sei. Nein, sage ich Ihnen, lesen Sie uns selber! Aber wenn man mit jungen Menschen sprechen will, muß man als lebendiger Mensch vor sie hintreten und aus sich herausgehen. Dann wird der junge Mensch auch aus sich herausgehen. Und dann wird dem jungen Menschen klar sein, was der ältere will und dem älteren, was der junge Mensch will.

Y: Ich möchte hier als Lehrer Herrn Dr. Steiner fragen, ob er denn nicht glaubt, was der erste diskutierende Redner angeregt hat, daß ein besonderer Geist doch in der heutigen Jugend lebt, etwa in größeren Städten, dem vielleicht ein durchaus menschlich eingestellter Lehrer nicht mehr in dem Maße gerecht wird, als derselbe Lehrer vielleicht vor fünfzig Jahren hätte gerecht werden können. Der Fehler ist mit vollem Recht bei den Alten gesucht worden; aber die Tatsache ist jedenfalls nicht ganz wegzudiskutieren, daß die heutige Jugend, die soziale Jugend, doch aus Elementen zusammengesetzt ist, in denen ein Geist des Skeptizismus lebt, daß vielleicht ein so eingestellter Lehrer, wie Herr Dr. Steiner, sich nicht vorstellt, wie man mit großem Dünkel einem entgegenkommt und daß in die Jugend hinein soziale Widersprüche rücken, daß vielleicht bei den Jungen zum Teil durch die sozialdemokratisch imprägnierten Gedanken falsche Vorstellungen hervorgerufen werden von Unabhängigkeitsdrang und dergleichen, die auch einem Lehrer, der unbefangen der Jugend gegenübertritt, ein Wirken erschweren oder verunmöglichen, das ihm vielleicht einige Zeit vorher noch beschieden gewesen wäre. Es sah in der Antwort des Herrn Dr. Steiner so aus, als ob diese ganzen Aktionen gerade der Jugend, einfach Antworten auf Mängel der Lehrer seien. Gewiß, wir unterliegen vielleicht in einem größeren Prozentsatz diesen Mängeln, aber sind es alle Lehrer? Das ist die Frage. Und werden diese Wenigen, die von diesen Mängeln doch nicht in dem Maße behaftet sind, nicht auch konstatieren müssen, daß eine andere Jugend da ist, daß es schwieriger ist, daß ein Unglaube und Skeptizismus unter den Schülern waltet und dem Lehrer das Arbeiten erschwert?

Dr. Steiner: Ja, wenn man die Frage so stellt, kommt man keinen Schritt weiter. $o ist es ganz unfruchtbar von vornherein. Es kann sich durchaus nicht darum handeln, zu konstatieren, daß die Jugend eine andere geworden ist und daß vielleicht es vor fünfzig Jahren leichter war mit der Jugend, sondern es handelt sich wirklich nur darum, die Mittel und Wege zu finden, wie wir heute eben gerade mit der Jugend fertig werden. Und schließlich, die Jugend wächst uns entgegen. Es hat auch nicht sehr viel Fruchtbares an sich, davon zu sprechen, daß sie durch sozialdemokratische Vorurteile und dergleichen zu einem Skeptizismus geführt wird. Das ist ebenso unfruchtbar, als wenn man ein Naturprodukt, das in einer gewissen Weise wächst - und das tut ja die Jugend auch, sie wächst uns wie ein Naturprodukt entgegen -, wenn man nun dieses Naturprodukt kritisiert, statt darüber Gedanken sich zu machen, wie man es in der besten Weise zu behandeln hat. Also es kann sich wirklich, wenn man die Frage auf einen fruchtbaren Boden bringen will, nur darum handeln, wie man sich heute der Jugend gegenüberstellt. Das wird unter allen Umständen nicht beantwortet, wenn man gewissermaßen wie eine fatalistisch zu nehmende Tatsache hinstellt, daß nun schon einmal die Jugend eben anders geworden ist, als sie vor fünfzig oder mehr Jahren war. Sie ist anders geworden! Und wenn man das Leben verfolgt hat, so wird man sehen, wie auch dieses Anders-Werden durchaus eine Art von Zunahme darstellt, eine Art von Umwandlung ins Größere. Ich mache darauf aufmerksam, wie es zum Beispiel in der Dichtung gequirlt hat; man lese oder sehe sich solche Dinge an. Es werden ja manchmal noch solche Dinge aufgeführt, sagen wir, dramatische Dichtungen aus den achtziger Jahren, wo das Verhältnis der jüngeren zur älteren Generation geschildert wird; da wird man sehen, daß dasjenige, was da ist, schon durch die Jahrhunderte hindurch vorhanden war und dazumal schon wie eine Katastrophe empfunden wurde. Dagegen ist das von heute das reine Kinderspiel. Aber wie gesagt, mit dem bloßen Konstatieren kommt man nicht weiter. Überall handelt es sich darum, wie man wiederum zur Autorität kommt, das den einzelnen Menschen gibt, was sie befähigt, als Lehrer, als Erzieher, sich in einer richtigen Weise zur Jugend stellen zu können. Das beweist meiner Meinung nach nichts dagegen, daß es im allgemeinen doch richtig ist, daß die Jugend im ganzen heute bei den Alten eben nicht den Anhaltspunkt für eine wirkliche Autorität findet, daß die Jugend heute bei den Alten mehr als das in älteren Zeiten noch der Fall war, auch in der hinter uns liegenden Zeit, Kompromisse und dergleichen findet. Das tritt uns ja sogar in den großen Weltereignissen entgegen, daß man überall nach Kompromissen strebt und daß daher einfach die Frage zu beantworten ist, auch im großen Stile: Wie gewinnen wir wiederum die Autorität? Ich muß sagen, ich weiß auch, daß es solche Lehrer, tüchtige Menschen gibt, wie diejenigen sind, die Sie erwähnt haben. Aber bei denen ist in der Regel auch die Jugend anders. Wer unterscheiden kann, der kann schon merken, daß da auch die Jugend anders ist.

Also man sollte nicht mit zu stark hypothetisch gefärbten Urteilen nach dieser Richtung kommen, sondern sich durchaus klar darüber sein, daß schließlich diejenige Art, wie die Jugend ist, doch im großen und ganzen beim Alter zu suchen ist. Meine Bemerkungen gingen auch nicht darauf hin, für die Fehler der Jugend gerade die Lehrer der Jugend allein als Alte verantwortlich zu machen. Man ist ja sehr versucht, darauf hinzuweisen, wie eigentlich dieser Mangel an Autorität heute wirklich in der furchtbarsten Weise gerade da sich geltend macht, wo unsere historischen Ereignisse sich abspielen. Bedenken Sie gewisse Momente während der Kriegskatastrophe: die Leute haben nach Ersatz gesucht für ältere, führende Leute. Welche Leute hat man denn gefunden? In Frankreich Clemenceau, in Deutschland Hertling - alles alte Leute urältester Sorte, die nur dadurch, daß sie einmal bedeutend waren, noch als Autoritäten dastehen, nicht Leute, die unmittelbar aus der Gegenwart heraus sich ihren Standpunkt zu fixieren wußten. Und jetzt? Wir haben es vor kurzem erlebt: drei Ministerpräsidenten in wichtigen Ländern haben ihre Stellungen erschüttert gehabt. Alle drei stehen heute auf ihren Posten deshalb, weil man keine anderen Autoritäten gefunden hat, aus keinem anderen Grunde! So haben wir heute selbst in den großen Lebenserscheinungen die Tatsache, daß die Autorität gerade bei den Leuten, die das Leben führen sollten, untergraben ist. Das hat nicht die Jugend gemacht auf diesem Gebiete; aber daran erschüttert sich der Autoritätsglaube der Jugend sehr stark, wenn so etwas auf die Jugend wirkt, wenn die Jugend so etwas miterlebt.

Also man muß diese Frage schon tiefer und vor allen Dingen fruchtbarer anfassen, und sich darüber klar sein, daß wir nicht jammern brauchen über die Art, wie uns die Jugend jetzt entgegentritt, sondern wir sollen vor allen Dingen daran denken, wie wir der Jugend gegenüber wieder aufkommen. Also etwa unter sie zu treten und bloß anfangen zu jammern: Kinder, ihr seid mir zu schlecht, ich erreiche mit euch nichts, ich kann nichts mehr mit euch anfangen -, das ist unfruchtbar. Fruchtbare Entwickelung muß sich bemühen, vor allen Dingen dasjenige Geistesleben und das Leben im allgemeinen zu suchen, das die Möglichkeit gibt, daß die Jugend wiederum zum Glauben an die Alten gebracht werden kann. Wer die Jugend kennt, der weiß: die Jugend findet sich beglückt, wenn sie an die Alten glauben kann. Sie findet sich tatsächlich beglückt, der Skeptizismus hört bald auf, wenn irgend etwas Richtiges da ist, woran die jungen Leute glauben können. Im allgemeinen ist das noch nicht so, daß nur Richtiges das Leben beherrscht. Aber im allgemeinen ist es doch so, daß wenn die Leute etwas sagen, was tatsächlich einen inneren Gehalt hat, dann werden die Jungen dennoch angezogen. Wenn man daran nicht mehr glauben könnte, wenn man das ganze Leben an den Mängeln der Menschen herumjammert und nur darüber redet, dann wird nichts erreicht werden.

The Pedagogical Basis of Waldorf Schools

When, after the collapse of Germany, a certain amount of social work began in Stuttgart with the aim of working toward goals that would allow for some hope for the future, the idea of founding a Waldorf school in Stuttgart arose from various social considerations and measures among one of the oldest friends of the anthroposophical movement, our friend Mr. Emil Molt. He had the opportunity to actually establish such a school immediately after the decision was made, because he was the head of an industrial enterprise with a large workforce, and thanks to the exceptionally good relationship between the management of that company and the workers, it was possible to enroll almost all of the children of the Stuttgart Waldorf Astoria cigarette factory in this school. And so, more than two years ago, this Waldorf school was founded, initially with a group of working-class children.

But over the course of the last two years, the school has grown, one might say, from month to month, and today the situation is such that in the school entrusted to my leadership, we not only have the original number of proletarian children, but also children from all walks of life and all classes to teach and educate. Today, however, the number of those who have flocked in from all sides already exceeds the original group of proletarian children from the Waldorf Astoria factory.

The Waldorf School thus stands in practice as a true unified school. Children from all classes of the population sit side by side in this school and can also be taught side by side according to the methods used there.

This Waldorf school in Stuttgart has grown out of the anthroposophical movement, a movement that is so widely opposed today because it is misunderstood. For today's purposes, I would like to begin by talking about a single misunderstanding. This is the belief that whenever anthroposophy and anthroposophical spiritual science are mentioned, along with all the social movements associated with them, it is something subversive or similar, whereas this is not the case at all. I emphasize this here by way of introduction because it is of particular importance for my educational topic today. Just as, for example, with regard to the various sciences that have grown out of modern intellectual life over the last three to four centuries, anthroposophical spiritual science seeks to have a fertilizing effect on all these individual sciences, including medicine, and to provide inspiration in all directions, but it does not want to enter into any kind of opposition to these modern sciences. It does not want to introduce dilettantism into modern scientific activity from any quarter, but rather to deepen and expand these sciences by bringing in precisely what follows from the premises of this modern scientific approach itself, but which is not sought by science itself.

Nor does what emerges as a pedagogical consequence of anthroposophical spiritual science stand in any opposition or dilettantish relationship to what has been striven for by modern pedagogy and its great representatives. Anthroposophical spiritual science, in particular, which appreciates modern natural science, also has every reason to acknowledge to the fullest extent the excellent contributions made to the world by the great outstanding educators and educational endeavors of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. It does not want to stand in opposition to all this, but rather to deepen and expand upon what it can research and find on anthroposophical ground; it also wants to stand entirely on the ground of modern pedagogical thinking. However, it finds that this modern pedagogical thinking in particular needs to be deepened and broadened, which I will endeavor to outline in a few brief strokes this evening.

Although the Waldorf school has its origins in anthroposophical spiritual science, it is by no means, and I would ask you to bear this in mind, a school based on a particular worldview. The Waldorf school is least concerned with bringing anthroposophical dogma, if I may put it that way, anthroposophical conviction as such, into the school. The Waldorf school does not want to be a worldview school or any kind of sectarian school, because none of this is actually part of the character of anthroposophical spiritual science, despite what most people believe.

What is to be made of the Waldorf school on an anthroposophical basis, however, is a school of methodology, a school that draws the usual inspiration for pedagogy, methodology, and didactics from anthroposophically oriented spiritual science. We were not in a position to take such a radical stance as many modern educators do when they say: if you really want to educate and teach a group of children properly, you have to establish rural boarding schools or similar institutions. There are many such endeavors in recent times. Nothing should be said against them; they can be understood from their point of view, but we were not in this fortunate position with the Waldorf school. We had given facts. We only had the opportunity to establish what the Waldorf school was to become within a city, within the whole life of the city. It was not a question of first creating the external environment for this school, but rather of achieving what was to be achieved through pedagogy and didactics themselves, using the means available and working in the given environment.

But it is also entirely in the nature of anthroposophical spiritual science that it can adapt to any situation in life, because it wants to work out of immediate life. It does not want to pursue utopian ideas in any way, but rather to create, out of immediate existence and life practice, that which is predisposed in human beings, out of the circumstances that are present.

As I said, dogmas should not be brought into the school; but what people within the anthroposophical movement gain is a knowledge that can grasp them as a whole, as complete human beings, whereas the educational life of modern times essentially boils down to a certain intellectualism. Therefore, one should not believe that Waldorf schools should teach children that human beings, as described in the writings on anthroposophy, consist not only of their physical body, but also carry within themselves an etheric body that contains the formative forces, the organic formative forces of the physical body; that they carry within themselves an astral body, which carries into the human physical body that lives on earth between birth and death that which develops in the pre-existing being of the human being, in that which precedes birth or, let us say, conception, and so on. These beliefs are not brought into the school. But the person who knows how the human personality, when understood not merely externally but truly scientifically in terms of body, soul, and spirit, who understands how this human personality also presents itself to the soul as a developing human being, as a child, gains above all a deeper understanding of the human being than modern science can provide. From this deeper knowledge of the human being, from what anthroposophical spiritual science learns about the human being itself, from this knowledge of the human being, which encompasses not only thinking but also feeling and willing, from this spiritual science, the Waldorf school should not develop what could be called a learned methodology, but rather something that arises from the teacher's knowledge of human nature and inspires them to do everything that the human organism itself demands of the teacher, the educator, the instructor. For the Waldorf school, the greatest teacher, paradoxical as it may sound, is the child itself. And because the Waldorf teacher carries within his heart the conviction that what he encounters in the child from week to week, from year to year, is the expression of a divine-spiritual being that descends from a purely spiritual-soul existence, that develops in the same way as the physical-bodily develops here between birth and death, and that connects with that what comes to the human being physically and etherically through the stream of heredity from parents and ancestors — this immense, deep reverence that one has for the developing human being, who from the very first day of his existence in physical life shows how the inner soul emerges in the revelations of physiognomy, in the first movements, in babbling and in the developing language, all that which comes in through real anthroposophical knowledge of human nature in reverence for that which the divine has sent down into the world, all this is the most essential thing with which the Waldorf teacher crosses the threshold of his class each morning. And from the daily revelations of this mysterious spiritual-soul being, they learn what they are to do.

Therefore, the methodology of the Waldorf school cannot be summarized in abstract principles. One cannot say first, second, third, but one can only say: through anthroposophical spiritual science, the human being becomes acquainted with the developing human being, learns to observe what looks out of the child's eyes, what speaks from the kicking legs. And because they are familiar with the human being, this anthroposophy will not only capture the intellect, which can systematize, but the whole human being, who feels, senses, and wills. The teacher is placed before the child in such a way that the method takes on a living existence for him, an existence such that he can always modify and metamorphose what he considers necessary for each child, even in larger classes. If one listens abstractly, one might say: These twisted anthroposophists assume that human beings not only have the physical body that our physiology and biology deal with, which they examine so carefully when it lies before them as a corpse, but that they also have an etheric body, an astral body; which one gets to know by doing very special inner soul exercises, by strengthening one's thinking to such an extent that the whole human being becomes a kind of supersensible sense organ, if I may use Goethe's expression, so that he sees more than he otherwise sees in ordinary life of the external world and of human existence. One can, as I said, make fun of the twisted anthroposophists who speak of supersensible beings in the sensuality of human beings. But without this conviction, which is based not on some kind of fantasy but on thorough knowledge, being brought into the school, those who are supposed to educate and teach children gain the ability to look at the developing human being as he or she must be looked at, based on what they learn in concrete terms about the human being in body, soul, and spirit, so that they can truly approach the innermost being of the other, in our case, the innermost being of the child.

I do not wish to say anything negative here about what is today referred to as experimental psychology and experimental pedagogy. I am well aware of what these scientific disciplines can achieve and I also appreciate it. However, the very existence of these scientific disciplines makes it absolutely necessary for us to deepen our understanding of education. For despite all the merits of experimental psychology and experimental pedagogy, they are proof that modern education has not brought us closer to the human being in a direct, elementary way, but has actually distanced us from the human being. We experiment externally on children to see how thinking, memory, and even the will work. We are then supposed to form educational rules and laws according to the various tables that have been created about this or that. Certainly, such tables are useful, especially to anthroposophical thinkers and anthroposophical educators. But if we see them as the be-all and end-all of what we can use as a basis for education and teaching today, we are only proving that we are actually far removed from the true, inner nature of the child. Why do we have to experiment? We must experiment because the direct relationship that once existed in older, if I may call it that, patriarchal times, the imponderable relationship between the soul of the teacher, the soul of the educator, and the soul of the child, has been lost under the influence of modern materialistic education. We experiment externally because we do not have a direct view and feeling of what is actually going on inside the child. And it is precisely this external experimentation that proves that we have lost this inner, elementary connection and must try with all our might to regain it.

When we look at experimental psychology and experimental pedagogy today, it is actually as if someone were observing a rider, say, as he travels along a smooth path or a difficult path, and then making statistical recordings about it: on the smooth path he advances this far in a quarter of an hour, on a slippery path this far, on an uneven path this far, and so on. The experiments that are carried out to determine whether the child remembers this or that after a quarter of an hour, omits this or that number of words in his memory, and so on, are similar. If one were to take statistical readings about the rider, one would be dealing with the external path, but also with what the horse can achieve on this path; but one does not get any closer to the essence of the rider, although it is of course entirely possible to take such statistical readings under these circumstances. But what matters is that one does not merely conduct external investigations on the outer surface of the person being educated, but that one penetrates directly into the inner being.

In anthroposophical spiritual science, we learn about what is given to us with the birth of a child. It carries within itself not only what is revealed to the senses, but also a spiritual-soul being that has connected itself with the physical human germ. And one learns in great detail how this spiritual-soul being develops, just as one learns in physical science how the physical germ develops in the stream of heredity. One learns to understand how something supersensible, spiritual and soul-like enters the human organism, independently of inherited characteristics. Without introducing such a dogma into the school – I must mention this again and again – one regards it as a point of orientation, as something that provides the right guidance for observing the child even before it starts school.

In the case of a child learning language, for example, this premise is useful: you must not only observe what lies in the stream of heredity, you must also observe what develops in the child from spiritual foundations, and this includes language. And now, by really knowing the human being through anthroposophical spiritual science, by learning to distinguish between the more inner astral body and the more outer etheric body, one learns in a completely different way about the nature of the will, which is more connected to the astral body, and the nature of thinking, for example, which is more closely connected with the etheric body, in their interaction in speech. For observation and experience are not merely a matter of observing external facts, but of being able to place these external facts in the right light.

And now take such a trained observer of life, such a human expert trained in anthroposophy, and place him next to the child who is gradually learning to speak. More than from all the statistical records that the excellent psychologist Wilhelm Preyer, for example, has made on the psychology of the child, the person who has now really learned to look into the soul life of the child learns from the imponderable forces that pass from the adult to the child. They learn to recognize what an enormous difference it makes whether, say, I hear the child's mother or father speaking to them to calm them down: “Oh, oh,” or talking to the child about the room they are in and saying, “Hush, hush!” With every vowel, I speak directly to the child's sensory and emotional life. I address the innermost part of the soul. Through anthroposophical spiritual science, I learn how to stimulate a certain area of the soul so that a certain connection is established between the educator, the caregiver, and the child, which immediately evokes a flow from the caregiver to the innermost emotional life of the child.

When I discuss, say, the coldness of the environment and the child finds itself in the hustle and bustle, I am directly influencing the will. And I see how, on the one hand, the child's emotional and feeling life is stimulated, and on the other hand, how it plays into the child's motor life, how impulses of the will underlie it.

With this example, I only wanted to suggest how, in the most elementary expressions of life, true knowledge of life sheds light on everything. Today we are faced with a magnificent science of language, from which pedagogy can certainly learn a great deal. But this science of language regards language as something separate from human beings. Those who are trained in anthroposophical spiritual science do not learn language as something, I would say, hovering above human beings, which they absorb and bring into their entire flow, but those who learn anthroposophical spiritual science, which always focuses on the whole human being, and who really knows how to apply it to life, learns how all vocalization, how the whole process of finding one's way into the vocalization of language in the child, is intertwined with an inner warming of the emotional life; while all consonant formation, everything the child learns about consonants, is linked to movements of the will.

This is what it means to learn to observe the child in the most intimate way. And it is precisely this intimate observation, this intimate empathy with human beings, that we have lost. We go around human beings, so to speak, in order to educate them, while we have lost direct contact over time precisely because of modern educational science. We do not know how language is organically connected with all the processes of growth, with everything else that goes on inside the child, because we know basically nothing about how a person becomes warm and sensitive inside when we educate them to be a true imitator. Until they lose their baby teeth around the age of seven, children are completely dependent on imitation. All education is basically based on imitation. Only if we correctly understand the human capacity for imitation in the first years of life and can track it concretely from year to year can we really look deeper into the nature of human beings and, based on this nature, educate them in a way that will enable them to enter life later as fully-fledged human beings.

This is not only true of language, but also of everything else we have to teach children in their early years, before they start school. Until they lose their baby teeth, children essentially rely on imitation. And this study of imitation—language itself is formed entirely through imitation—this study of imitation in all areas of life is made possible by anthroposophical spiritual science. But it also allows us to look more deeply into the nature of human beings in other ways. And while today's psychology constantly ponders: What is the relationship between the human soul or, as they say, between the human spirit and the physical body? Today's psychology is not at all capable of forming ideas about the relationship between the soul-spiritual and the physical-bodily, because, although it basically knows the physical body, but only really gets to know it when it has been left by the soul-spiritual, and because, on the other hand, that very distance from the soul-spiritual has occurred which I have just spoken about. This can best be seen in a single example.

Such events as the change of teeth around the age of seven are not appreciated deeply enough by modern science. For those who have the powers of observation that anthroposophical spiritual science cultivates in human beings can see how the soul forces of the human being undergo a complete change when the human being, the child, goes through this change of teeth. Memory, a child's ability to think, and even a child's capacity for feeling become completely different during these years than they were before. And actually, it is only at the age of seven that we see a certain configuration of the soul life springing forth from the child, approximately speaking, of course. Where was that which springs forth from the child, which we actually only deal with in school, where was it before?

You see, the thinking of today's science is quite on the right track in the inorganic realm. If I have a body somewhere and heat emerges from this body through some process, then as a modern physicist I study how this heat was already contained in the body as latent, hidden heat, and how it emerged from the body as free heat through a certain process. I will not say: this heat somehow came to the body, but I will look for the conditions under which it was already present in the body beforehand. The line of thinking that science has already inaugurated in this regard can also be transferred to more complicated circumstances, above all to human life itself.

Anyone who studies, in the anthroposophical sense, how a child's memory, thinking ability, and willpower take on their peculiar configuration in the seventh year, gradually comes to realize that all this did not just come to the child, but developed from within the child itself. Where was it before? It was in the child's organism. And what I then have to deal with in school was previously a latent, hidden force within the human being; it has been released. It was within the human being as long as the human being needed that force, which then finds its conclusion in the eruption of the second teeth. Once the second teeth have erupted, this process is not repeated in the human life. That which first worked as an organizing force within the human being, which came to an end with the eruption of the first teeth, is released, just as heat is released from certain bodies. This then appears as a soul-spiritual capacity, as the abilities that one has to deal with in educating and teaching at school. One can only learn about the interaction of soul and body by going into the concrete. One can think philosophically and speculatively for a long time about how soul and body relate to each other. One must look at the concrete from birth to the age of seven, when the forces that I will later learn about, that I will later have to shape myself as an educator and teacher, have been released, have worked within the organism, have emerged from the organism.

And so it is throughout human life. All the speculations found today in philosophy or psychology books about the relationship between soul and body are useless unless they are based on concrete observation using a truly scientific method.

If you continue to observe something like this and know that what you encounter as a teacher in the child is the same force that previously worked within the organism, then you say to yourself: now this force must take on a different form; I must get to know it in this different form as I teach and educate. But I must also get to know it in its original state, as it previously worked within the organism. Well, there is much that could be said about this. I just want to point out that this force, which is active in the depths of the organism, is what initially makes the child an imitator until the age of seven, and one must look at this imitative ability in the child if one wants to understand the child correctly before school age.

For example, parents come and say: My child has stolen something. They are looking for advice. You then ask: How old is the child? Four or five years old. A four- or five-year-old child, as paradoxical as it may sound, does not actually steal. A four- or five-year-old child is an imitator. And if you ask further questions, you might be told, for example, that this child has seen their mother taking money out of a cupboard every day. They imitate her and take money too. I have even experienced a case where such a child took money out of the cupboard and did not spend it on himself, but bought things that he distributed to other children. There was nothing immoral about it, but rather something amoral, imitative.

One must be aware, even in one's state of mind, that when dealing with a child as an imitator, one may only do, say, and even think things in one's environment that the child can imitate. Education before school age must be based on imitation. This may sound paradoxical at first, but it is what must underlie a truly healthy education.

The forces that primarily make the whole person an imitator, that make them an imitator to such an extent that they imitate the slightest hand movement of those around them, emerge at the age of seven, when they become free, as it were, as the forces that we as educators and teachers have to shape. And if we develop this idea further, we say to ourselves: while the child is an imitator until the age of seven, throughout the school years until puberty, it is dependent on the authority of the teacher, the educator, as a natural, guiding force. This is what is at stake from the change of teeth to sexual maturity, that one thoroughly understands how only this relationship of natural authority between the child and the teacher and educator can guide in the right way.

This relationship of authority is easy to express in abstract terms. However, one must truly possess an understanding of human nature based on anthroposophy if one wants to guide this relationship of authority in the right direction at every moment.

You see, today people rightly talk about – and I say rightly in a certain sense – the need for visual teaching. Certainly, there must also be visual teaching for certain areas. But that which is not visual cannot be brought to the child through visual teaching. This is above all the moral world order, religious feelings, everything that is spiritual in the world. The spiritual is initially invisible to the outer senses, and if one takes so-called visual teaching too far, then one educates the child directly to believe only in what is visible to the outer senses, that is, to materialism. What is important at school age, however, is that the child, through its natural relationship with the teacher and educator, has the feeling that the person standing next to me – it is, of course, something different when you say it out loud than what lives in the child, but the child has it in an elementary way – the person standing next to me knows what is right, behaves as one should behave, and I must follow him. While children spend the first seven years of their lives imitating everything around them, I would say primarily gestures, including those inner gestures that emerge in language, children of school age are shaped by the influence of what can be conveyed to them through the word of natural authority. And here one must be thoroughly guided by true knowledge of human nature into what this self-evident authority can be.

You will not expect someone who, like me, wrote a “Philosophy of Freedom” many years ago to speak out in favor of a reactionary belief in authority in social life. It is not out of any such intention, but out of pedagogical and didactic considerations, that I say: the most essential principle of education, the most essential educational force between the age of seven and sexual maturity, lies in everything that sinks into the child under the belief that authority knows what is right and does what is right. —- And without developing ourselves through authority, we cannot later enter social life in a healthy way.

One only has to know what it means to accept something on the basis of authority. I know that for many people this sounds extremely paradoxical, but basically only for those who do not have the will to view life in its entirety.

Just think, if nature did not, in the second year of human life, shape our fingers so that they could grow and flourish, if nature shaped our fingers so that they were, in a sense, cast in fixed, stereotypical forms, what would become of us! As human beings, we must be growing beings, constantly undergoing metamorphosis. As educators, we must also pour this kind of being into the soul of the child. We must not teach the child anything that awakens ideas, feelings, or impulses of will that have sharp contours, so to speak. Just as our fingers do not remain with the contours they have in the second year of life, but grow through their own power, so all the ideas and feelings we pour into the child during school years must carry within themselves the essence of growth.

We must be clear about this: what you teach an eight-year-old child today must not have sharply defined contours, it must be an inner capacity for growth; it must be able to become something completely different by the age of forty. You must be able to see the whole person. Anyone who does not appreciate the principle of authority in the right way during these childhood years has never experienced what it actually means when, for example, at the age of thirty-five, you get a vague idea of history, geography, or anything else, or even just a concept from life that one accepted on the authority of a beloved teacher or educator at the age of nine, which one did not understand at all at the time, but simply accepted on authority. When it comes up and you understand it with a more mature mind after decades, that is an invigorating principle that evokes in you the vague feeling that you don't even need to bring it to consciousness: you have something from your younger years that is alive in you, even in your soul life. In this regard, we must be able to follow the growth forces of nature.

Our educational principles, our methods, must not be constricted by rules; they must, in a sense, be based on a living knowledge of human nature and be second nature to those who have to educate and teach; then they will treat people as they are and not try to graft something onto them. This does not negate what was said by the great educators of the 19th and early 20th centuries; on the contrary, it follows them in the right way.

Anyone who wants to become a Waldorf teacher knows very well that they cannot simply walk into a school in an amateurish manner. They must take on board all the ideas that 19th and 20th century pedagogy has brought, but at the same time they must bring this living knowledge of human nature, which I am talking about, into the school. One is tempted to quote Goethe: “Consider the what, but consider more the how.” With regard to the what, that is, with regard to the principles and guidelines for teaching, our educational theories and didactic textbooks contain some excellent material. Sometimes even very brief instructions contain something downright idealistic. But that is the what. Consider the what, consider more the how. It is not a matter of establishing abstract principles, but of being able to translate these principles into life as a living human being with inner warmth of soul and strong impulses of life.

I am completely convinced that if three or twelve, or even more or less, not particularly intelligent people get together today and construct an ideal school out of their minds, it will be excellent on paper with first, second, third, and so on. It would be impossible to come up with anything better. The most beautiful ideals can be conceived and turned into party principles of great movements, reform movements, and so on. But none of that matters in life. What matters in life is to look at life itself, to have living people who do what is possible and necessary under the given circumstances. Consider the what, consider the how even more.

And so it is important that love for the child is the basis everywhere, that teaching and education are based on this living experience. Then, of course, everything is justified in a different way than it is otherwise justified. And here I may, as it were, express the following as a general principle. I would like to illustrate this with an example.

You see, one should illustrate to the child: the child can find its way into abstract concepts through observation, but one can also proceed in various ways with observation of the abstract, the ethical, the religious. Let us assume, for example, that I want to teach a child of the appropriate age about the immortality of the human soul. I do this by means of a comparison. But I can do this in two ways. One is that I say to myself: I am the teacher, so I am very clever, terribly clever; the child is still young, terribly stupid. So I make a comparison. I say: Look, there is the butterfly chrysalis; the butterfly will emerge from it. I show the child this process vividly and then say to him: Just as the butterfly emerges from this chrysalis, so too, when a person reaches the gates of death, the immortal soul will enter the spiritual world. So I can approach the child, come up with this comparison, and appear terribly clever to the child, but I will not achieve much. This is where the imponderables come into play. But if I am trained in anthroposophical spiritual science about the nature of the world, so that I know that there is spirit in everything material, then I do not say: I am terribly clever and the child is terribly stupid and I have to think of something, but I believe myself that what is, on a higher level, the soul emerging from the body, on a lower level, through the laws of nature, presents itself as the butterfly crawling out of the chrysalis. I myself believe in my comparison. That is my sacred conviction. These are two different things. When I speak to the child out of sacred conviction, I touch the child's innermost being in an imponderable way. I evoke in the child what is a living feeling, a living concept; and so one can say that this is true in all things. One must neither underestimate nor overestimate what modern science, which is focused on the external, can be.

Let me give you a somewhat far-fetched example, just to illustrate my point. As you know, there was once a lot of talk about so-called calculating horses. These calculating horses performed very special tricks. Now, I have not seen the Elberfelders, but I have seen Mr. von Osten's horse myself and have seen how this horse actually stamped its foot, its leg: one, two, three, four, five, six, and so on, when given simple arithmetic problems. You have to have an eye for such things if you don't want to fall into nebulous mysticism on the one hand and rationalism on the other – you can explain everything there. You see, there was, for example, a private lecturer in psychology and physiology who also looked at Mr. von Osten's horse. He said: Yes, this horse stamps its foot at a certain number because it sees very specific subtle movements in Mr. von Osten's facial expressions. And when Mr. von Osten makes the corresponding facial expression at three times three is nine, the horse stops stamping its foot. Now, of course, the learned man in question also had to make it plausible that such facial expressions exist on the face of the horse's owner. But such expressions could not be detected in Mr. von Osten. So the learned man said in a very scholarly treatise: Yes, the expressions are so subtle that a human being cannot see them; and I myself cannot say, he said, what these expressions consist of. So you see, this erudition actually consisted of him saying: Yes, I am not clever enough to bring out the expressions; but that is the horse. So it is much cleverer than I am, or has a much finer sensitivity.

Anyone who looked at the matter more impartially than such a learned man observed how the gentleman from the East continually took pieces of sugar out of his right coat pocket, which was very large, and, while the horse was making these movements, carried out his calculations, continually feeding it pieces of sugar, so that the horse was constantly licking sugar while he was calculating. And this treatment of the horse produces a very special – please don't misunderstand me – loving relationship, a special inner relationship. This then underlies the innermost effects that actually emanate. One must start from the current that arises from such stimulation of love, as happens with the sugar cubes, if one wants to understand the relationship that lies beneath the surface of ordinary observation. And indeed, one cannot speak in the crude sense of hypnotism and suggestion, but must speak of entirely different, subtle relationships if one wants to get at these things. These things cannot be understood with nebulous mysticism or rationalism, but only if one truly has knowledge of the soul, in this case not only knowledge of the human soul, but also knowledge of the soul of the animal.

And that is what matters most of all if one wants to establish a living pedagogy as opposed to a pedagogy or didactics based on mere principles, on mere external, intellectualistic propositions. This pedagogy leads one to be able to truly observe the child from year to year. And what matters is how this is done, the individual treatment of each child, even in a larger class. It can be done. The Waldorf school has clearly demonstrated this in the few years since it was founded.

I can now only show in broad terms what could be done in concrete, individual cases. We have the situation where the child is brought to school and is first taught to write and then gradually to read, perhaps also to do arithmetic and so on; but let us take reading first. Reading is something that is actually quite foreign to the child in today's world, in today's human life. If we go back to ancient times, to earlier times, we still have pictorial writing, where there is still something in the individual lettering that leads pictorially to the object to be designated. In our written language, we no longer have anything that would lead the child directly to what is being designated, connecting with the immediate soul forces. Therefore, when children start school at the age of six or seven, we should not begin to teach them to write in this way. At our Waldorf school, all teaching, including writing, which precedes reading, is based on appealing to the child's artistic sense. From the very beginning, we first teach the child a certain ability to express themselves artistically with colors, not just with pencils, so that we can give them something from drawing, painting, and art, which we can introduce to the child in a simple way, from which we can then develop the shapes of letters. Certainly, such things are already observed elsewhere, but here again it depends on how. Above all, it is important that we introduce the child to things that do not affect the intellect, where one has to remember something, but rather things that primarily affect the will, and from what is drawing and painting, gradually guide the child to what can arise from the will to the intellectual understanding of the matter.

And so we guide the children from stage to stage, developing everything from the child's own nature. Except for the curriculum, everything that needs to happen with the child can actually be read from the child's developing nature. This requires anthroposophical knowledge of human nature.

I would now like to point out that, for example, one can observe exactly how one spoils a child by not teaching them growing concepts, growing feelings, and growing impulses of will if one begins too early to make the child aware of the difference between the outer world and their own soul life. Until about the age of nine, the child does not distinguish itself from the world at all. However, one must not use such abstract concepts as some people do today, who say: Well, when a child bumps into the corner of a table, it hits the table because it considers the table to be something alive. That is nonsense, of course. The child does not consider the table to be something alive at all; it treats the table like another child because it does not distinguish between itself and the table; the living aspect does not play a role at all. The concept for this does not yet exist. One must reckon with real, actual concepts everywhere, not with what one imagines. What you teach a child up to the age of nine must be of a purely human nature, must assume, so to speak, that the child places itself in the world and considers everything it sees to be part of itself, just like its own organism. Certainly, if you want to make a rough distinction, you can point to this or that where the child differs from its surroundings; but you cannot have a more refined education if you do not really bring everything to life, if you do not turn everything into a parable, not a dead one, but a living parable, which you teach the child about life and death between the ages of seven and nine.

Between the ages of nine and ten, something extremely important happens for the child. It is only then that the child really learns to distinguish itself from its surroundings. It is only in this year of life that we can really bring the child closer to the nature of plants and animals, which is independent of human beings. But something very significant is happening in the child's nature. And it is important that the teacher or educator actually knows how to observe how this happens earlier in one child and a little later in another; Something is happening in the deepest part of the child's mind. They are becoming a different being. They are learning to distinguish themselves from the world emotionally, not through concepts. If you observe the right moment in the right way, by finding the right words and the right behavior between the ages of nine and ten, you can do something that will be of tremendous importance for the child's entire life. During this period of a child's life, it is possible to cause desolation, so that the child goes through life with doubts, inner desolation, and inner dissatisfaction. Or, if you yourself have inner vitality, if you have enough compassion to understand this moment in the right way, to immerse yourself, as it were, in the child's being and find the right words and the right actions from within the child itself, then you can do something immensely significant for the child at this most important moment. And observing the right moments in a child's life for this or that is particularly important in something like Waldorf school pedagogy and didactics.

From this point on, it is entirely possible to introduce the child to simple descriptions of plants, simple descriptions of animals, and so on, whereas before, all of this had to be treated in a uniform manner. And between the ages of eleven and twelve, actually only around the age of twelve, does the opportunity arise to teach the child what is then the subject of physics, of the inorganic. Only then, after the child has absorbed everything that really brings it into life, only then can one point to the inanimate through the animate.

And so one guides the child — I am only mentioning a few characteristic things that I have picked out as examples — up to the age at which elementary school usually ends, to the age of sexual maturity.

Today, there is much discussion, philosophizing, psychoanalysis, and so on about sexual maturity. But what is important is to see that just as the change of teeth marks an important stage in life, so too does sexual maturity. Sexual maturity itself is only one link in a metamorphosis that encompasses many things, the whole of human life at this age. What has happened to the child through the change of teeth is that its inner soul forces, which previously worked in the organism, have been set free. Between the ages of seven and about fourteen, we are dealing with what can really be developed in the child in the way I have spoken about today. With sexual maturity, the child enters that age of life where, in a sense, it first appears capable of judging the outside world in the right way. Whereas previously it brought its own nature to the surface from the depths of its organism, it now becomes capable of taking in the spiritual world as such. This is one of the greatest problems of education, and also one of the most important problems of a truly vital didactics, how to educate the child between the ages of seven and fourteen in order to bring it in a completely natural way to the age where it can actually develop an independent, individual attitude to the world, an attitude of which sexual love is only a part. What emerges in sexual love, in love for another human being, is only one link in the whole of human social life.

We must bring people to the point where they have matured internally to such an extent that they now follow the things of the outside world with interest, that they do not pass by the things to which they should feel drawn in love. We must develop human beings into social beings until they reach sexual maturity. But we must also develop human beings in a certain way into pious beings, pious not in the bigoted sense, but in the sense that human beings actually develop that seriousness within themselves through which they grow into a life that knows everywhere that the external, sensual-physical is permeated by the spiritual; a life that is not content with observing the mere external physical and sensual, but is able to see the spiritual foundations everywhere.

At a time when human beings offer us their own nature and believe in our authority, we must offer them in ourselves what is, in a sense, the world for them. If they have found a world in us, in that we are their teachers and educators, then they are properly prepared to be pious, prepared to be social beings before the world. We release them from our authority, which gave them the world, into the world itself.

I will briefly touch on one of the most significant problems of knowledge. Anyone who develops a child's ability to judge too early, to judge independently, brings forces of death instead of forces of life into the developing child. Only those who use their authority in such a way that they truly awaken in the child the natural belief that they are doing the right thing and saying the right thing, and that it should be accepted, in this sense the representative of the world for the child, does not prepare them by controlling their intellect, not by controlling any powers of judgment, but prepares them through their own living human being to continue to develop in the world as a living human being. Life must be developed through life. Not by starting from abstract clarity, from abstract intellectual concepts, but by presenting the child with a world in a living human being, we make it a true citizen of the world.

All this can be characterized in a few strokes, but it presupposes that one can look into the details of the developing powers of the child, I would say, from day to day. Then the way in which one carries something through the door into the classroom has the effect that the child actually climbs up to its own life through the life of the educator, the teacher. Then there is no need to say something as amateurish as: Learning should be fun for children. Many people say that today. Just try to see how far you can get with such an abstract principle! In many respects, learning cannot be enjoyable for children; but through what you bring to life in the work of the school, you should educate the children in such a way that they approach even what they do not enjoy with a certain curiosity, with a certain thirst for knowledge, so that the whole way in which the teacher proceeds is a preparation for what they can learn through him.

Then the sense of duty develops naturally. But in doing so, we are pointing to something that lies even deeper than the mere field of education. We are pointing to something where a pedagogy and didactics truly drawn from a spiritual foundation can mature directly into a fertilization of our entire cultural life.

We certainly revere Schiller and Goethe as leading spirits, and you would not expect someone who, like me, has studied Goethe and Schiller for more than forty years and written extensively about them, not to regard these spirits with the fullest, most heartfelt, and warmest appreciation. However, there is one thing I would like to point out in this context.

When Schiller, after initially distancing himself from Goethe for all sorts of human reasons, became close friends with him in the 1790s, he wrote his famous, but unfortunately far too little read and studied today, “Letters on the Aesthetic Education of Man.” He wrote them under the impression of how Goethe worked, how Goethe thought, how Goethe behaved in the world. In these letters on aesthetic education, there is a remarkable sentence: Man is only fully human when he plays, and he only plays when he is human in the fullest sense of the word. Schiller wants to point out how external life basically puts people in a kind of slave state, how people sigh under the external necessities of life, how they must, in a sense, submerge themselves under something that forces them into bondage, while they only follow their own impulses as performers of art, as creators of art, as artistic enjoyers; when they behave like a child at play, who does what they do solely out of their innermost instinct. What Schiller puts forward in these aesthetic letters is beautiful, wonderfully beautiful and genuinely human thinking.

On the other hand, however, it only shows that, with the rise of modern scientific culture and modern technical culture, such exquisite minds as Goethe and Schiller believed that, in order to truly appreciate human beings, they had to demand that people must step out of life, must step out of work, so to speak, and into play in order to become fully human. Today, when we consider the social conditions that the 20th century has created for us, we feel quite differently about life. We feel that we bear the infinite burden of gravity, which comes from the fact that we must learn to understand how every human being must engage in the work of life, how life must be worth living in social terms, in individual human terms, not merely by engaging in play, but by engaging in work in a humane manner. That is why the social question today begins with the question of education and teaching, because we must teach, because we must educate in the sense that human beings become workers, because we must instill the concept of duty in school in the right, natural way, not through admonitions and sermons. We can only do this in the way that has been suggested, based on a correct understanding of human nature with a good foundation.

We then establish true work schools, not schools in which the principle is established that teaching and education should be turned into playfulness as far as possible, but where, through the life that authority brings into the school, even the most difficult things are accepted by the child, the child is drawn to what needs to be overcome, not to what it simply enjoys doing.

This is precisely the pedagogical basis of the Waldorf school, that the child learns to work in the right way, that the child is introduced with his whole being to the world, which in social terms demands work, but which on the other hand also demands that people treat each other in the right way, and above all treat themselves in the right way. For this reason, for example, in Waldorf schools, in addition to the usual gymnastics, which has grown out of the physiology of the body and has an extremely beneficial effect in this respect, we have introduced eurythmy, which trains the body, soul, and spirit and is a visible language.

In Dornach, you can learn what eurythmy is, how it actually works, just as there are audible languages and singing, there is also a form of speech through gestures and movements, not through facial expressions, but through regular movements of the human limbs or movements of groups of people, derived from the organization of the body, through which the same things can be expressed as through audible speech or singing. And in the last two years at the Waldorf School, we have already been able to see how, from the lowest to the highest school classes, children, when eurythmy is properly cultivated, find their way into it with the same naturalness as younger children find their way into language.

I once explained this in an introduction to a eurythmy performance in Dornach. One of the most famous physiologists of our time was there – if I told you his name, you would be amazed – and he said to me, after I had said: We do not want to underestimate gymnastics, but a future generation will judge more impartially and recognize the value of the spiritual and soul-based gymnastics of eurythmy alongside ordinary gymnastics. He came up to me and said: You said that gymnastics fits in well with modern education, that it is based on physiology. As a physiologist, I say that gymnastics is barbaric. — I am not the one saying this, but one of the most famous physiologists of our time.

It is precisely this kind of thing that can lead one to conclude that the statement is correct: Consider the what, consider the how even more. — One can really rejoice inwardly sometimes at what is written in our educational and didactic manuals, at what the great educators have achieved; but one must find the right how, one must find how the right ideas can be correctly introduced into life.

But this is something that Waldorf teachers must discover anew every day. For that which is to have life must be based on life. Spiritual science itself ultimately leads people to see through truths which, even if they are the same every day, move them anew every day. With our ordinary knowledge, which relates to material things, we rely on memory. Once something has been absorbed, we remember it and call it up from the treasure trove of our memory. Once we have learned something, we have it, and it is then linked to us. Certainly, for ordinary life it is necessary for people to have their treasure trove of memories. But the living does not correspond to this intellectualistic view. The intellectualistic view relies on memory, but the living does not, at least not in its lower realms. Just consider, if you were to say: I ate as a small child, that is for the whole of life – just as you say: I learned as a small child, that is for the whole of life. You have to eat every day because it is a living process and what is taken in by the living organism is actually processed. In the same way, spiritual things are also taken in in a living way, and anthroposophically oriented education must work out of this living spirit.

That is what I wanted to describe to you in brief, merely pointing to what has been further elaborated in the anthroposophical books, including those parts that deal with education. This is what I wanted to point out to you as the pedagogical basis of the Waldorf School, this experimental school founded by our friend Emil Molt, which by no means wants to rebel against the pedagogical and didactic education system of the present, but only wants to bring to fruition what has often been hinted at and demanded in a more abstract way. But anyone who takes an unbiased look at the life into which modern humanity, especially European humanity, has gradually fallen will realize that some things will have to be deepened in our time. After the terrible catastrophe of the second decade of the 20th century, which crushed the most beautiful fruits of humanity, it must be admitted that it is important to give future generations something different spiritually, mentally, and physically than what our contemporaries have received, for which so many representatives have had to pay dearly. And those who are most entitled to look into life from the perspective of pedagogy, of the art of education, will be able to approach such endeavors with complete impartiality: those who, as fathers or mothers, have to care for their sons or daughters. Those who, as parents, have experienced the great catastrophic realities of contemporary life will undoubtedly welcome any attempt to secure something better for the coming generation than many can have in the present, based on deeper social and spiritual foundations. That this coming generation may have something better than what many have at present is something that parents, above all, have reason to wish for their children, and it is something that parents, above all, have the right to demand from teachers and educators. Such a thought, such an ideal, was in our minds when we attempted to lay the pedagogical foundation of the Waldorf School.

Questions and Answers

Question: Dr. Steiner spoke of the importance of authority, and that is something with which our young people want very little to do. Every teacher, and not least every pastor, can experience this. There are many different trends among young people today, and there is a noticeable tendency to reject all authority, both the authority of the parental home and the authority of the spiritual world. Parents sometimes feel that they no longer have a say in the matter and must let people go their own way. On the other hand, we sometimes see how things turn out, and it pains us that young people do not always achieve the goals they seek. There is something that forbids young people from feeling authority, that has planted a thorn in their side. Perhaps Dr. Steiner would be so kind as to tell us something about where this comes from, why our young people are so strangely restless, why they are no longer satisfied, why they are particularly fond of complaining, and why we are no longer able to really reach them. We are sorry about that. I have studied many books on the subject, but I have not yet found the path that is actually viable in any book. And so I would like Dr. Steiner to say something that would give us insight into the soul of young people.

Dr. Steiner: This is, of course, a topic that would require a lecture to cover it exhaustively, one that would have to be at least as long as the one I have just had to give, much to my regret — not because of its purpose, but because I am sorry that you have had to listen to it for so long! But I would like to say at least a few words in response to the remarks made by the previous speaker.

You see, in my life, which is no longer short, I have really tried to pursue precisely the things that the previous speaker has just mentioned. On the one hand, I have really learned what it means when, for example, during one's childhood, there was talk of a revered relative whom one had never seen before, you have been told a lot about them, you have learned everything about how the people you grow up with every day, such as your parents and teachers, think about this revered relative. I have learned what it means to be taken to such a revered relative for the first time and to have held the door handle with sacred awe. Experiencing something like this is something that remains important throughout one's entire life. And there is no real sense of freedom in life that is commensurate with human dignity that is not built on the foundation of such reverence and veneration in childhood.

However, I also saw something else. In Berlin, I met a very famous socialist who gave many socialist speeches. One day, I read an article by her in an otherwise highly respected newspaper, which was headlined: “The Children's Revolution.” And there, in a very socialist way, it is argued that now that the older people have all made the revolution, or at least talk about the revolution, the children should also talk about the revolution, i.e., the children should make the revolution. And it was not even entirely clear whether this also meant children who were not yet of school age. This is another example of what has been experienced in this area in recent decades.

A third example is that I read serious proposals by an educator that schools should have designated books in which, at the end of, I believe, a week or a month, students should write down what they think about their teachers. The whole thing boiled down to striving for a future where it is not the teachers who evaluate the students, but the students who evaluate the teachers.

Well, all these things cannot be judged properly unless they are considered in the context of our entire lives. And perhaps this will also seem paradoxical to you, but I believe that the question raised will have to be answered in a broader context. You see, we have gradually lost the real penetration of the human soul with the living spirit through the scientific and technical culture, which is so magnificent on the one hand, but which necessarily tends toward intellectualism due to its very nature. What people today usually imagine when they think of the spiritual are only concepts and ideas, which are actually only representations of some kind of spirituality. The most influential philosophers speak of the spiritual in terms of conceptual deductions. This is precisely what anthroposophical spiritual science seeks to overcome. It does not want people to merely talk about the spirit, to express the spiritual in concepts and ideas, but rather wants people to permeate themselves with the living spiritual. But when people permeate themselves with this living spiritual, they very soon realize that we have gradually lost this living spiritual and that today, as adults, we very much need to return to this living spiritual. As adults, we do not have the living spiritual, especially when we are so enlightened. Then we are agnostics at best, saying at most: natural science can go so far, but there are limits to our knowledge of nature. That it is only at these limits that the struggle for knowledge begins, and that this struggle then leads through life into the spiritual world, is something that today's education basically has little idea about.

And what has come of this, or how has it come about that we have lost the spirit from our speech? You can read countless things today and you will find that, basically, we are only dealing with words that more or less automatically roll out of human souls. Anyone who is familiar with spiritual life and is a little unbiased will often only need to read the first few lines or pages of an article or book to know what the author thinks about the issues in question, because they think what naturally follows from the development of the words. When life loses its spirit, it is transformed into a life of phrases, and that is what we have so often in our cultural life today. We do not have the living spirit that speaks from the whole, full human being, but rather, when we talk about spiritual life or want to be part of spiritual life, we often have phrases. But not only in the sense that many people think, but above all in the glorious public education we have. Please just think for a moment how much life there is in this or that party that has the most beautiful party phrases. People get intoxicated by party phrases. This may bring a certain satisfaction to the intellect, but it does not touch life. And so it must be said that what is evident at the culmination of agnosticism, which has already gradually penetrated the broadest strata of society, is abundantly interspersed with phrases. In our lives today, for example, because we live in clichés, we no longer want the liveliness of the word, because the word does not come deeply enough from our soul. Change can only be brought about if we once again imbue ourselves with the spiritual. Two weeks ago, I wrote an essay for our magazine “Das Goetheanum”: “Das verschüttete Geistesleben” (The Buried Spiritual Life); In it, I drew attention to the wonderful things that can be read in the works of people who were still writing in the mid-19th century, for example. Very few people know this. I showed some people the books I referred to, and these books really look as if they had been looked at continuously for a decade and then dragged through the dust. People asked me: Where did you get these books? – Yes, I said, I have a habit of browsing in antique bookshops sometimes, and I ask for the relevant catalogs and say, please bring me the books on such and such a shelf. And there I found all kinds of things that are simply forgotten today, that are not being reprinted, but that prove to you that life in the spirit has indeed been buried to a certain extent.

You see, natural science cannot fall into clichés for a very simple reason: it is bound to experimentation and observation; as an experiment, it is a purely intellectual fact and fits into laws of nature. But otherwise we have gradually entered into a life of clichés. And this life of clichés is a side effect of the great one-sidedness of scientific and technical development. It is this life of clichés that must be blamed, among many other unfortunate things in our time, for what the previous speaker has mentioned. The child has a completely imponderable relationship with adults. Adults may entertain themselves with phrases, especially in party meetings, but when phrases are offered to children, they cannot follow. And what happens when phrases are offered to children, regardless of whether they are religious, scientific, or enlightening phrases? What happens is that the soul is left without content. For the phrase does not become part of the soul's content. And then the instincts come up from the depths. And just as today in the external social life of the East, where people wanted to establish a realm of phrases in Leninism and Trotskyism, for it is only a realm of phrases; since these phrases are not creative, the wildest instincts emerge from the underground, so too do the instincts emerge in young people. These instincts are not always pathological; they simply prove to us that the older generation has not understood how to put soul into the phrase. Basically, our youth question today is already, in a certain sense, an age question, a parent question. We stand too strongly opposite youth, we stand too strongly opposite the child, in that we are terribly clever and the children are terribly stupid. Whereas often the wisest person is the one who can learn the most from a child. One relates to children in a completely different way when one does not treat them with clichés. And so we are confronted with a youth to whom we ourselves have not shown any soul. The fact that we must not seek the aberrations in youth itself, ladies and gentlemen, is nevertheless shown to us in many ways by the short time in which the Waldorf school has been operating.

You have seen that Waldorf school education is based primarily on the question of the teacher. And I must admit, there is something to it: every time I come to Stuttgart – unfortunately not often, as I can only run and visit the school very sporadically – in every class, without boring the children, I ask the question in some context: Children, do you like your teachers? You should hear and see how the children respond enthusiastically in chorus: Yes! And this appeal to the love that teachers can show the children is what already belongs in the behavior of the elderly toward the young. And I can also say that we established the school as a complete elementary school, so that we have the children from their parents' homes for the entire school day. Yes, it could sometimes be frightening to come into the school and observe this discipline, especially during the breaks between classes. People who are quick to judge said: There you can see what a free Waldorf school is; the children are all undisciplined. Yes, you see, the children came to us from other schools; they were brought up with what you might call iron discipline. Now the children are much calmer, but when they came to us, they still had that iron discipline in them, and they were really quite rowdy. The only ones who were well-behaved were the children in the first grade who came directly from their parents' homes, but even they weren't always well-behaved. But every time I go there, I notice progress, especially in discipline. And now, after a little more than two years, you can see the great transformation. The children will certainly not become troublemakers, but simply because they know they can turn to their teachers with confidence when this or that has happened, they are treated in this or that way, one responds to this or that in them, they become trusting, they also change, they do not become troublemakers, they are loud and all sorts of things; but the discipline that can be demanded of them develops gradually. And what I called a natural sense of authority in my lecture also develops.

It is really wonderful when you hear, for example, that a student came to the Waldorf school, he was already fourteen years old, was in the highest class, and actually came in as a rather dissatisfied boy. He could no longer believe in his old school, but of course, in a few days, a new school doesn't offer you anything either. The school is a whole, and if you cut a piece out of a painting, you can't judge the whole painting afterwards. People think they know the school, for example, when they visit it for a day or two. That's nonsense; you can't get to know the anthroposophical method by taking a small piece of it out of context: you have to know the whole spirit. So, of course, it was the same for the boy who came in, that nothing he encountered in the first few days satisfied him immediately, especially since he had arrived feeling dissatisfied. But after a while it turned out that he had gone to his history teacher, he had turned to him because he was terribly impressed by him – and he had now complained to him about his suffering. Afterwards he was like a changed person. Such a thing is only possible through this natural relationship of authority. You see, these are the things that become quite clear when what I meant here by “natural authority” is really brought about by the qualities of the teachers. I don't think it's premature to say that the spirit the previous speaker referred to earlier will not speak from the young people who go through Waldorf school. It is a matter of the teachers being the ones who must first and foremost channel the unjustified impulses of youth into the right direction.

Well, at the Waldorf school, we have teacher conferences in a different way than is usually the case. In the teachers' conferences, each individual child is actually discussed, but in a psychological way. And we have all learned an extraordinary amount in the two years of Waldorf school education. Teaching, educating, and instructing is indeed a living organism.

We would not have had the opportunity to establish our Waldorf school if we had not made certain compromises. Therefore, right at the beginning of the Waldorf school, I drew up a memorandum for the ministry in which I said: We undertake to ensure that the children are ready to transfer to any other school by the age of nine; then again by the age of twelve and again by the age of fourteen. But in the meantime, we want complete freedom in terms of methodology. This is a compromise, but one has to work with what is available. Nevertheless, in certain areas we were able to implement what is simply a matter of course for healthy pedagogy and didactics: for example, the system of report cards. You see, I also experienced in my youth that the report card says: “almost commendable,” “barely satisfactory,” and so on. But I never figured out what wisdom the teachers used to distinguish between “barely satisfactory” and “almost satisfactory”; that has never dawned on me. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. Instead of such grades, we issue report cards that express the teacher's words to the child, which have no numbers and are therefore meaningless to the child. Because if something has no meaning, it is meaningless. As the child slowly grows into life, the teacher writes in the report card what is specifically necessary for the child, so that each child has something different written down – a kind of characterization of the child. And then, at the end of the school year, we give each child a saying that corresponds to them. Of course, it takes some time for each child to receive their report card in this way. The child takes it in their hands and has a mirror in front of them. I have yet to find a child who has not taken their report card with interest, even if not everything was particularly praised. And the accompanying saying in particular is something that can mean something to the child. You see, we must use all means to give the children the feeling that those who guide and educate them are issuing the report cards in a serious manner, not one-sidedly, but in such a way that there is a direct interest in the child. So it is very important that our culture, our culture of phrases, gradually develops out of the old, and that as young people grow up, they are given the right understanding. I know, of course, that this is connected with certain forces of popular psychology; but mastering these is even more difficult.

At none of the various congresses we have had recently has there actually been a lack—you may be surprised—of a certain number of people from this or that group in the youth movement. There has always been a certain number of people who are called “Wandervögel” and so on. They all came to us, and I never minced my words. But people saw that I wasn't talking to them in platitudes; I was talking to them about something that, even if it was completely different from what they had imagined in their dreamy minds, came from the heart, and its real value came from the heart. And above all at our last congress in Stuttgart, where once again a number of people from this youth movement were present, who are otherwise really not interested in giving any credence to any authority, people who say: Everything must grow from within, grow by itself, and so on, they would not be persuaded otherwise – at the last congress in Stuttgart, it was unanimously decided, after an hour and a half or two hours of discussion, to even found an anthroposophical youth group.

It is really a question of how the older generation meets the youth halfway. I cannot help but point out, based on my own experience, which has been confirmed in numerous cases, that today's youth question is often an old people's question. Perhaps we will best answer the question of the youth movement if we look less at young people and a little more at ourselves.

X: Let a young person speak. Forgive me if I use strong words: we young people no longer have any authority figures, so to speak. And why? Because our parents don't have any either. When we talk to our parents or older people, we always find from their words that they have no respect for people, that they always criticize trivialities and that they put themselves in a bad light, so to speak. We young people have the impression that our educators have sometimes become walking compromises and that they cannot decide to take a particular side and say from the bottom of their hearts: I mean it and I stand by it. You never really know whether they will come down on one side or the other. And we always have this feeling from our parents or educators that they don't really want to characterize young people, but rather judge and criticize them. When I think about how we work together in our youth group and what kinds of things come our way—I'll pick out two very characteristic examples: once we read Blüchner and Morgenstern together. Just imagine the contrasts between them. And so it is every day; things rush at us, and there is nowhere a center to which we can hold fast. There is nowhere, even if it is not a thought, a human being, a truly living human being. How can one teach if there is not, so to speak, a living human being behind the things, whom one can feel when he lectures.... Then we would be enthusiastic about the subject. But as long as our educators do not approach us as people who are not afraid to laugh at themselves in front of us, we simply cannot have the necessary trust in them. We young people, I can say this from my own conviction, are looking for authority. We are looking for a center, a point of reference, where we can climb up and grow into a life that is a real inner life. And that is why our youth rushes to everything new that appears; it hopes to catch something that could be of use to it. But when they do catch something, it is only a great confusion of opinions, views, judgments that are not judgments at all, but at best condemnations.

If I may say something to the first speaker: He asked for a book in which one could read why this is the case with young people. No, I say to you, read us yourselves! But if you want to talk to young people, you have to stand before them as a living human being and come out of yourself. Then the young person will also come out of himself. And then it will be clear to the young person what the older person wants, and to the older person what the young person wants.

Y: As a teacher, I would like to ask Dr. Steiner whether he believes, as the first speaker suggested, that there is a special spirit living in today's youth, especially in larger cities, which a teacher with a thoroughly human attitude may no longer be able to do justice to to the same extent as the same teacher might have been able to do fifty years ago. The fault has rightly been sought in the older generation, but the fact cannot be entirely dismissed that today's youth, the social youth, is composed of elements in which a spirit of skepticism lives, that perhaps a teacher with such an attitude as Dr. Steiner cannot imagine how to approach someone with great conceit, and that social contradictions are creeping into youth, that perhaps, partly due to social democratic ideas, false notions of a desire for independence and the like are being created among young people, which also make it difficult or impossible for a teacher who approaches youth with an open mind to have an effect that might have been possible some time before. Dr. Steiner's answer seemed to suggest that all these actions were simply responses to shortcomings on the part of teachers. Certainly, we may be subject to these shortcomings to a greater extent, but are all teachers? That is the question. And won't those few who are not affected by these shortcomings to the same extent also have to acknowledge that there is a different kind of youth, that it is more difficult, that there is a prevailing disbelief and skepticism among the students that makes the teacher's work more difficult?

Dr. Steiner: Yes, if you put the question that way, you won't get anywhere. So it's completely fruitless from the outset. It cannot be a matter of stating that young people have changed and that perhaps fifty years ago it was easier to deal with them, but rather it is really only a matter of finding the means and ways to deal with young people today. And ultimately, young people are growing up to meet us. It is also not very productive to talk about how social democratic prejudices and the like are leading them to skepticism. That is just as unproductive as criticizing a natural product that grows in a certain way—and that is what young people do, they grow toward us like a natural product—instead of thinking about how best to treat it. So, if we want to address the issue in a productive way, we really need to focus on how we relate to young people today. This question cannot be answered under any circumstances if we present it as a fatalistic fact that young people today are simply different from what they were fifty or more years ago. They have changed! And if you have followed life, you will see how this change also represents a kind of growth, a kind of transformation into something greater. I would like to draw your attention to how this has been reflected in poetry, for example; read or look at such things. Sometimes such things are still performed, say, dramatic poems from the 1980s, where the relationship between the younger and older generations is described; there you will see that what is there has been present throughout the centuries and was already perceived as a catastrophe at that time. In comparison, what we have today is child's play. But as I said, merely stating this fact does not get us anywhere. Everywhere, the question is how to regain authority, how to give individuals what enables them, as teachers and educators, to relate to young people in the right way. In my opinion, this does not prove anything to the contrary, that it is generally true that young people today do not find a point of reference for real authority in their elders, that young people today find compromises and the like in their elders more than was the case in earlier times, even in the past. We even see this in major world events, where compromises are sought everywhere, and therefore the question that simply needs to be answered, even on a large scale, is: How do we regain authority? I must say that I also know that there are teachers and capable people like the ones you mentioned. But with them, young people are generally different. Anyone who can distinguish can already see that the youth are different there.

So one should not come to conclusions in this direction that are too strongly colored by hypothesis, but should be quite clear that, ultimately, the way young people are can be found, on the whole, in old age. My remarks were not intended to blame the teachers of young people alone, as older people, for the mistakes of young people. It is very tempting to point out how this lack of authority is actually manifesting itself in the most terrible way precisely where our historical events are taking place. Consider certain moments during the catastrophe of war: people sought replacements for older leaders. What kind of people did they find? In France, Clemenceau; in Germany, Hertling—all elderly people of the oldest sort, who only remained authorities because they had once been important, not people who knew how to establish their position directly from the present. And now? We have recently seen three prime ministers in important countries have their positions shaken. All three are still in office today because no other authorities have been found, for no other reason! So today, even in the major phenomena of life, we have the fact that authority is undermined precisely among the people who should be leading life. It is not young people who have done this in this area, but it greatly shakes young people's belief in authority when something like this affects them, when young people witness something like this.

So we need to approach this question more deeply and, above all, more fruitfully, and be clear that we do not need to complain about the way young people treat us now, but that we should above all think about how we can regain our standing with young people. So, for example, to stand among them and just start complaining: “Children, you are too bad for me, I can't achieve anything with you, I can't do anything with you anymore” – that is unproductive. Productive development must strive, above all, to seek the spiritual life and life in general that makes it possible for young people to be brought back to faith in their elders. Anyone who knows young people knows that they are happy when they can believe in the older generation. They are indeed happy, and their skepticism soon ceases when there is something right that young people can believe in. In general, it is not yet the case that only what is right dominates life. But in general, when people say something that actually has inner substance, young people are still attracted to it. If one could no longer believe in this, if one spent one's whole life complaining about people's shortcomings and talking only about them, then nothing would be achieved.