The Rudolf Steiner Archive

12. History and Geography Classes

[ 1 ] Once the children have been brought to this stage in the manner described—around the age of 12—we will still need to catch up on certain topics, such as fractions—one will see that they are then ready, on the one hand, to begin actual history lessons and, on the other hand, to study geography, physics, and chemistry. At the same time, during these years, the children mature in preparation for real-life experience. Today I would like to offer a few brief remarks along these lines.

[ 2 ] In fact, a child is not ready to grasp the history of humanity until around the age of 12. However, one can certainly prepare a child for history through storytelling, through sketched-out biographical portraits, and even through a certain kind of moral narrative. But a child becomes ready for history itself precisely through the kind of botanical and zoological instruction I have described. In the study of history, one can achieve an extraordinary great deal if, through botany, one has, so to speak, presented the Earth as a unified whole that brings forth various plants across its surface and through the different seasons, and if one has understood human beings as a synthesis—as I have described—of the various animal groups, each of which represents, in a one-sided way, that which is then harmoniously united in human beings. By engaging with such mental images, the child becomes ready for history lessons.

[ 3 ] When we approach the child through history, however, the aim is to use this historical instruction to draw out certain forces from human nature, to meet them halfway, and, so to speak, to fulfill what human nature desires at this stage of life. But here we encounter strong resistance in what is usually presented to us as history. For what is presented to us today as history is, after all, essentially the narration of events, or else the summarization of events or cultural-historical phenomena from a certain causal perspective. It is, in essence, something that remains fixated on the external aspects of events. If you are open-minded, you will not feel that this history can give you a true mental image of what actually underlies the process of becoming human. We have, after all, heard a great deal in recent times that history should refrain from recounting wars or other events of a more external nature, and that it should instead focus on depicting the causal connections among cultural phenomena. Yet the question remains whether it is necessarily justified to assume such a causal connection—for example, attributing what happened in the second half of the 19th century more or less to what happened in the first half of the 19th century, and so on back in time. After all, what underlies the process of becoming human could manifest itself in history in an entirely different way. And this is really what history instruction is all about: that we do not, so to speak, let ourselves be carried away, that we do not undertake, in any class, to teach history in such a way that we ourselves initially master only a narrowly defined scope of material. Of course, we build on our preparatory seminar work—and that is entirely correct—and we know the entire history, so to speak, but that is not what I mean now. Rather, I mean that when we begin teaching history to any given class, we usually start somewhere with something, and we then leave it to later stages to properly grasp what follows and so on. That is why we treat history instruction, so to speak, merely in chronological order.

[ 4 ] This way of thinking does not really take into account the forces that come to meet us from human nature itself. We must take other factors into consideration here. For example, we must be clear that what is essential, first and foremost, is what we humans—who live in the immediate present—actually still experience as “history.” If we simply take children back to Greek history in such an abstract way—even if the children are already college students—then that is merely an abstract transport back to an earlier period. One does not concretely understand why, from the present, one somehow needs to understand the Greek era. But one immediately grasps what it is all about if one assumes that we still have direct, living forces from the Greek era within us in the present. We must first give the children a mental image of this. We can do this in various areas. We may have already laid the groundwork earlier, but in history class we must start from what we still have within us today from a particular historical epoch.

[ 5 ] Now, an unbiased overview of our culture will very easily lead you to the following conclusion. If I were to elaborate in detail on what I intend to outline here, it would take many hours; but everyone can do that for themselves. I merely wish to outline the guiding principles here. You see, everything we possess in the way of broader, universal mental images—the very images that, in a sense, define our existence as human beings—we have, in essence, inherited from the Greek era. We have also inherited certain artistic sensibilities—which still shape our souls today—purely as a legacy of the Greek era. Take the most common concepts that are second nature to us, such as the concept of cause, the concept of effect, and the concept of humanity itself. All of our universal concepts—the Greeks worked their way toward these concepts. Take the concept of history itself; the Greeks were the first to establish this concept of history. So our entire life of imagination—we can survey it, and we will find that it is a legacy of the Greek era. Thus, in a very elementary way, we can first discuss our universal treasure trove of ideas with the students without giving any thought to the fact that it originated in Greece. We can certainly discuss the present with our students and focus on that for the time being; then we can try to work through something dramatic or something lyrical with the children in such a way that, for example, when dealing with drama, we draw their attention to how a play is divided into acts, how it is structured, how it leads to a complication, and how a resolution is brought about. In doing so, we can develop the concept of catharsis in a very basic way. We certainly do not need to instill complicated philosophical mental images in the children, but we can develop the concept of catharsis by showing the child how our emotions are heightened in a drama, how we are truly drawn into a kind of compassion and fear, and how we thereby learn to achieve a certain balance in our feelings toward fear and compassion—which, after all, was regarded by the Greeks as the essence of dramatic art. This is entirely appropriate once we have properly prepared the children by the time they are 11, 12, or 13 years old. We can then present the children with some Greek work of art—a figure of Aphrodite or something similar—and explain to them how beauty is revealed in this depiction, and so on. We can even go so far as to explain the difference between the static in art—as seen in individual depictions—and the dynamic in art, and so on. We can then discuss with the children certain mental images regarding public life—say, drawing on what still exists in public life today and what was already present in Greek times as fundamental political concepts. And then, once we have discussed such matters, we try to present to the children—as a broad overview—the fundamental character of the entire history of Greece, making it clear to them how people of a certain character lived in Greece and what the political structures of the Greek city-states were like. But then we must primarily point out how what we discussed first—what is still alive today—originated among the Greeks; how, for example, something like the plastic arts arose among the Greeks, how the structure of their cities developed, and so on. So we must start from what is still alive today and proceed to show the children how these things first took root in the Greek era—the earliest phase of human development—so that the child gains a very clear understanding of the contribution that the Greek era has made as an enduring contribution to human development.

[ 6 ] Through such a presentation, the child must gain an understanding that historical life is not an endless repetition, but that something very specific is accomplished for humanity in a particular age, which then endures; just as later ages accomplish something else, which in turn endures. Then the child also gains a certain firm footing in the present. The child says to itself: Our age, too, has something very specific to contribute to eternity. Such a presentation of history truly has an effect on the soul; it also inspires the will; and the manner in which such a presentation is given is of extraordinary importance. In doing so, we will have the opportunity to present the child with a whole range of mental images, a whole range of impressions, and then show them: it was the Greeks who introduced these into the treasure trove of human life. And we have the opportunity to speak with the children for an extended period, drawing from what is still alive today, in such a way that nothing Christian is yet present in anything we present. For by speaking about Greek culture in this way—and speaking in such a way that Greek culture is experienced as alive—we are engaging with a subject in which nothing Christian is yet contained. But precisely by keeping mental images alive in the child’s mind for an extended period—mental images that are still entirely neutral toward Christianity—we gain the opportunity to then present the impact of the event at Golgotha, the impact of the emergence of Christianity, with the utmost clarity to the children. And when we present Greek history in this way, we will move from a general characterization of Greek civilization as a whole to the specific details. By working through Greek history in this manner, we will create precisely the right foundation for the children to develop a sense of Christianity.

[ 7 ] Now, some of you will, with some justification, say the following at first: “Yes, but you’re encouraging us to remain silent about the details of history for the time being and to characterize Greek civilization as a whole, in broad strokes—that’s not the right method, because it doesn’t start from individual, concrete events and then piece together Greek history in its entirety from those individual events, and so on.”

[ 8 ] Yes, here we touch on a significant methodological question that should not be answered out of obstinacy or prejudice, but rather from a full and unbiased understanding of life. I ask you: Is life such that it always composes the whole from the parts? Consider this: if you were to apply this requirement to ordinary perception, you would have to instruct people to assemble a human head—a human head—from the individual parts of the brain and so on. After all, in life we perceive wholes directly. We gain a living relationship to life only by directly perceiving wholes, and it is never a matter of arbitrarily moving from the parts to the wholes, but rather of characterizing that which appears in life as a whole as a whole. Yes, for the Greeks themselves, it was the case that they lived in a particular decade and experienced, as individual human beings, the impressions that this decade could offer. But what is still alive today from Greek culture has been synthesized; it forms a whole, and we overlook this whole if we do not, starting from this living reality, present the entire scope of Greek culture to the child in a way that characterizes it.

[ 9 ] And this also resolves another, more practical issue. Time and again, I have had to experience firsthand what this really means in practice: the teacher cannot finish the course material in a single year. This is actually something that leads to nonsense in two ways: first, you simply don’t finish—that’s one kind of nonsense; second, however, in order to finish, the material is often rushed through so hastily in the final weeks that it becomes completely futile work—what you do in those last weeks means absolutely nothing. But if one has first outlined a broad framework—if one has presented to the children the timeframe one intends to allocate to the class in question (we will discuss class divisions, the curriculum, and the learning objectives later)—then it doesn’t matter so much if, when considering the details, one has to skip over certain things here and there and so on. For how easy it is in life, especially in our time with general encyclopedias, to look up individual details once one has a general overview of a subject. Not having gained an overview can, under certain circumstances, be a lasting loss for one’s life. For a true overview can only be gained under the guidance of a living personality. Details, on the other hand, can also be gleaned from a book.

[ 10 ] This must certainly be considered a very important aspect of the art of teaching. In fact, this is something that should be given the utmost consideration in teacher certification exams. If what I have been trying to implement—which, of course, is just the beginning—were applied to the Waldorf School in Stuttgart in the context of teacher certification exams, one would simply say: In the teacher certification exam, the focus should be on assessing the teacher’s overall disposition with regard to a worldview, and, for the rest, leaving the specific knowledge to whatever the teacher deems necessary to prepare for individual lessons, hour by hour, day by day. It is sheer nonsense to demand details in teacher certification exams. What matters is gaining an overall impression of whether someone is suitable as a teacher or not. Of course, one must not force these things. One must certainly not believe that one can take all these things to extremes. But essentially, what I have said applies.

[ 11 ] Now one can regard everything I have described as still alive today, in a sense as a transitional impulse toward Greek culture. But then one will be able to move on to what is also alive today, yet was not yet alive in Greek culture. Above all, one will now be able to have a lively discussion with the student about a concept such as universal human dignity. One will be able to discuss a concept such as the individual consciousness of the human being—all, of course, in a basic way. The Greeks did not have the concept of universal human dignity. They had the concept of the polis, the concept of a community to which the individual belonged. According to this, individuals were classified as: masters and slaves. They did not have the actual fundamental concept of the human being. This is what we now discuss with the students. We also discuss with the students the concept of the universally human, which—because we are truly not Christian enough in today’s world—is not very much alive in people, but, I would say, can very well come alive in children through natural history and history. This concept of universal humanity can be awakened something like this: One places Leonardo’s Last Supper before the children—it actually exists only in spirit now, with just a few patches of color still remaining in Milan—that which Leonardo once intended with this painting; today, I would say, one can only grasp a concept of it through clairvoyance, but the idea behind the painting is still there. It can be brought to life by placing the painting in front of the children. When you have these twelve apostles with the Lord in the center, you are then able to use this painting to clearly demonstrate that there are twelve people there—twelve people whom the artist himself has already depicted, through their postures, with the most diverse dispositions, from the devoted John to the traitorous Judas. In a sense, one can explore all human characters through these twelve figures. You can show the children how different human characters are, and then point out how the Lord, in the center, relates to each individual, and you will be able to say to the children: For my sake, take anyone who comes down from a foreign celestial body—you don’t have to say it that way, but you can make it clear— take anyone who comes down from a foreign celestial body and sees all the images on Earth—such a being need only look at the twelve people, and then at the transfigured face in the center, and it will know, as a being entirely alien to Earth: This has something to do with what gives Earth its meaning. That there was once a time in the Earth’s evolution that served as a preparation, that then another time came—one that had been awaited and which, in contrast to the preparation, represents a kind of fulfillment—that the entire earthly evolution of humanity is connected to this event at Golgotha, that the Earth’s evolution would have no meaning if this event had not taken place—this is something that can be made clear. This, then, is what is still alive today—something that can very easily be revived, insofar as it has once again died out in our semi-pagan age. In short, the point is to make clear, as it were, the second age of humanity. This is the age that, in contrast to the creation of concepts and artistic sensibility—to all that could actually only arise through the incubation of an aristocracy of humanity—and in contrast to what has remained as a legacy, emerged with the rise of Christianity: the universally human.

[ 12 ] Now, by turning our attention to Roman history, we can show how Roman history tends toward something that, in and of itself, has little significance; for it will become clear to the impartial observer of Roman history just how great the gap actually is between the Roman people and the Greek people. The Greek people have given us and the Romans—for the Romans were the disciples of the Greeks in truly every significant aspect of human life—Greek culture has given us and the Romans that which has endured. The Romans, for their part, were an unimaginative people, a people who, through the concept of citizenship, were in fact merely preparing themselves for the Christian concept of humanity. The impact of Christianity on Roman civilization can certainly be taught to a child of this age, thereby also showing how the ancient world is gradually falling apart and how Christianity is gradually spreading throughout the Western world. I would like to say: The first millennium of Christianity thereby acquires a certain unifying character. It is the spread of the universal concept of humanity. And when one presents to children such a vivid, such an intense concept of the impact of Christianity on human development, one also gains the opportunity to characterize this entire new era for the children of humanity.

[ 13 ] Now that the first millennium of Christian European development has come to an end, something entirely new is beginning once again. This entirely new development is slowly taking shape. What is clearly entering the course of human development is, I would say, the most prosaic thing of all for us. For our descendants millennia from now, things will be different, but of course we must teach “history” for our own time today. So we look back at Greek civilization—at that which may be considered pagan: artistic life, the life of the imagination, and so on— we look back to the first millennium of Christian development and find the European emotional life developed precisely there; and we then find, in what emerges after the first millennium of Christian development, the European life of the will, approaching first and foremost through the fact that economic matters become the subject of sophisticated reflection for people, the subject of difficulties. They used to be handled in a much more naive way than they are now. And in connection with this, one then attempts to describe precisely how the earth becomes a unified stage for humanity—how it becomes so through the voyages of discovery, how it becomes so through the art of printing—and one attempts to grasp this most recent period as the one in which we are still living. At that point, one will no longer be able to present broad perspectives—such as those for the Greek era and the Christian-Roman era, with their lasting impact on Central European life—in the same way; one will then have to break down into details, to a greater or lesser extent, what took place from the 11th, 12th, and 13th centuries onward. But it is precisely through this process that one will awaken in the child the proper sense of the life of the people’s will that is entering history at this time.

[ 14 ] What is achieved by doing this? You see, this does not advance causal history or pragmatic history—all those wonderful things that have been so admired at times. What, then, is causal history? As I’ve already said, it presupposes that what follows always arises as the effect of what precedes it. But if you have a water’s surface and you see successive waves—can you really regard each subsequent wave as the effect of the preceding one? Wouldn’t you then have to look into the depths of the water for the cause, the common cause of the waves’ succession? It is no different in history. One overlooks the most important thing if one looks only at the connection between cause and effect. One overlooks what is at work in the depths of the forces shaping human evolution—forces that bring individual phenomena to the surface over the course of time—so that they do not merely present themselves from the perspective of cause and effect. What happens in a century is not merely the effect of what happened in earlier centuries, but it is independent—apart from being an effect—it is independent; I would say it is carried to the surface from the depths of the stream of human evolution.

[ 15 ] One can evoke an impression of this during childhood. And one must evoke it during this period. For if one does not evoke it at this age, then the person remains stubborn, clinging to their pragmatic or causal view of history. They then become fixed in their conception of historical development and are later, in fact, little inclined to take in anything that actually has a future—and which, in contrast to all other historical narratives, I would like to call “symptomatological history.” Anyone who engages in symptomatological historical analysis will not believe that one must approach historical events directly and describe them for their own sake, but will regard them as symptoms of a deeper process of becoming and say to themselves: If, in a particular era, let us say, Gutenberg appears and invents the art of printing, this is connected to something happening in the depths of humanity. And the invention of the printing press is merely a symptom of the fact that humanity had, by that time, matured enough to transition from certain purely concrete mental images to abstract ones. As life unfolds over time—a life held together more by pressure than by its immediate, substantive content—life becomes essentially abstracted or driven toward the abstract.

[ 16 ] We generally have no mental image at all of how, in the course of historical development, life becomes increasingly abstracted and driven toward the abstract. Just think about it for a moment—to give a small example—I might say: “My coat is shabby.” Everyone today has a mental image of what that means when I say, “My coat is shabby.” But they won’t really grasp what that actually means. It means that what I’m referring to originally had something to do with cockroaches, those little insects. People would leave coats hanging in closets without brushing them properly, and then these little insects—these cockroaches—would come and eat away at the coat. Holes would appear. And the word “shabby” originated from the destruction of coats by cockroaches. That is the transition from the concrete to the abstract. This transition from the concrete to the abstract is constantly taking place within humanity, and we should actually be paying attention to it. You see, in the region where I grew up, in this part of Austria, the farmers spoke very concretely about “night’s sleep.” For them, “night’s sleep” was not that abstract concept we think of today when we say “night’s sleep”; rather, the farmer would rub his eyes, and whatever was in the corners of his eyes in the morning—what he rubbed out—that concrete discharge is what he called “night’s sleep,” and he had no other concept of night’s sleep; he first has to be introduced to the abstract concept of “night’s sleep.” Admittedly, these things are dying out. We older people remember—if we didn’t spend our youth in the city but in the countryside—how concrete everything was. But it has, so to speak, more or less died out with the 19th century. I could give you a whole number of such examples, and you would hardly believe that people in the countryside think in such a concrete way. One can experience very strange things. There is an Austrian dialect poet who has written some very beautiful works that city dwellers have all admired—but only city dwellers, because country folk do not understand them; he uses all his words the way abstract-minded city dwellers do. But those in the countryside do not understand this at all, because they focus on concrete things, so that everything means something completely, completely different to them. I just want to point out that, for example, when this Austrian dialect poet speaks of “nature” in his poems, he is completely incomprehensible to the farmer, because the farmer does not share the educated person’s concept of “nature” at all, but instead understands “nature” to mean something very, very concrete. One could cite examples everywhere that would show how the transition from the concrete to the abstract is inherent in the entire course of human development, and how a wave of a tendency toward abstraction has swept over all of humanity with the advent of the art of printing. Under the influence of the art of printing, people filter their concepts, so to speak.

[ 17 ] Then it wouldn’t be a bad idea to teach children certain concepts drawn from recent history that actually help them view life objectively. For example, there would be far less rhetoric about fighting capitalism and so on if the people who talk about these things today didn’t speak as if they’d never heard of them and had no mental image of what it means to simply rail against capitalism; for it has nothing to do with what people actually want. It’s simply because people haven’t gained a proper mental image of the meaning of capitalism and so on. That’s also why my books, such as *The Key Points of the Social Question*, are found so incomprehensible—because they’re written from real life, not from the fantastical delusions of today’s agitators.

[ 18 ] For a vibrant understanding of history, it is essential to truly view external events as symptoms of a hidden inner reality—one that we intuitively come to grasp more and more as we observe these symptoms. If one views history symptomatologically, one gradually comes to realize that, with regard to certain events, there is first an ascent, then a highest peak is reached, and then a descent follows. And here is the event of Golgotha. If one views history in such a way that external events bear witness to inner processes, then one gradually ascends from the historical into the religious; indeed, history itself then deepens into the religious. And then one begins to find a path that emotionally leads to an understanding of what one can, of course, introduce to the child at an earlier stage—let’s say the Gospels or the Old Testament. But one cannot bring the child to an inner understanding any sooner. That is not necessary at all. One presents it to the child in narrative form, and when the child then develops a living sense of history, the biblical material, in turn, takes on new life. And it is good that things only reach their full life in stages. But above all, the religious impulse, the religious sensibility, is deepened through the observation of history in its manifestations.

[ 19 ] Now, I said that children should be prepared for history through natural history if one proceeds as I have described in the preceding reflections. But one has also prepared the children for the life of the Earth by teaching botany in the way I have described. Then, at this age, one can also move on to geography. This geography should be based on all kinds of narrative descriptions of regions, including distant regions such as those in America or Africa. Through this, as well as through the preceding natural history—in which the relationship of the plant kingdom to the entire Earth was presented—the child is prepared, by around the age of 12, to develop an understanding of geography proper, In this geography, the key now is to show how what is currently being developed in history depends on the Earth itself, on climate, and on all that the Earth produces in terms of its lawful form and structure in its various locations. After providing an understanding of the relationship between sea and land, and of the climate in ancient Greece, one can now trace back to what has been developed purely as a symptom of humanity’s inner development in relation to the character of Greek civilization. A deep connection can then be found between the geographical picture one paints of the Earth and historical development. In fact, descriptions of the Earth’s regions and descriptions of historical development should always be intertwined. In geography, America should not, in principle, be discussed before the discovery of America has been addressed in history. It is necessary to take into account, in a certain way, that the human horizon has expanded in the course of development and that one should not, I would say, push the human spirit too strongly toward an absolute.

[ 20 ] Similarly, in so-called mathematical geography, it is not advisable to start dogmatically with a diagram of the Copernican or Keplerian world system from the outset; rather, it is appropriate to at least briefly explain to the children how people arrived at such a model. In this way, children are not given concepts that are more than they should be, given their stage of development in human evolution. Of course, in the age of the Ptolemaic worldview, a teacher would have taught children the rigid concepts of the Ptolemaic system; now, he teaches them those of the Copernican world system. However, it is absolutely necessary to give children at least some idea of how one ascertains the positions of the stars in the sky in some way and draws a conclusion from the synthesis of these positions—which is, in fact, the very essence of the world system—so that they do not, for example, believe that such a world system was arrived at simply because someone sat down on a chair outside this world and observed it. How, after all, is a child supposed to create a mental image—when one draws the Copernican system on the blackboard as a fact—of how humanity arrived at it? The child must have a vivid mental image of how such things are formed; otherwise, it will go through its entire life with confused concepts, which it nevertheless regards as something extraordinarily certain. This is what creates a false belief in authority—not the expectation that a child will develop a proper sense of authority between the ages of 7 and 14 or 15.

[ 21 ] And so it is, above all, beneficial to be deeply aware not only of what it means for a child’s spiritual development to present the right mental images to the child at the right moment, but also of what it means for the entire being of the human person, including their healthy physical constitution. Try to focus your attention on what it means—between the ages of 7 and 12—to present a child with the right amount of material to be retained in memory, or to fail to do so. Try to understand what it means when you misuse a child’s so-called good memory. With a child who has a good memory, you should not expect that child to shine because of their memory; rather, you must ensure that such a child frequently receives new impressions that erase earlier ones. If you overburden the memory, the child will remain stocky and will not grow as tall as they would if their memory were handled properly. People who appear to have stunted growth—you can be certain that this stems from an improper approach to their memory. Likewise, you can be certain that people who are, in a certain sense, unable to control their facial expressions—those who give a somewhat rigid impression—did not receive enough artistic or even aesthetic visual impressions around the age of 9.

[ 22 ] Especially during childhood, the effect of proper emotional care on physical development is of immense importance. And so it is of immense importance that we constantly strive to ensure that the child learns to speak clearly and resonantly and, above all—as I have called it—with rounded sounds; that the child learns to pronounce sentences fully, syllables fully, and perfectly. For in human beings, proper breathing depends on proper, correct speech, and therefore the proper development of the human chest organs depends indirectly on proper speech. One should compile statistics on the chest diseases that are now so rampant from this perspective as well. One should ask: To what extent is pulmonary tuberculosis caused by the fact that far too little attention is paid in school to proper, syllable-rich speech—and, above all, to the fact that no attention is paid to ensuring that the child actually breathes fully while speaking? Speech must not be based on breathing; rather, breathing must be based on speech. One must speak correctly. A sense of correct speech—of the lengths and shortness of syllables and words—must be developed; then breathing will follow accordingly. To believe that one must train breathing in order to achieve correct speech is nonsense. Breathing—correct breathing—must be a consequence of correctly perceived speech. Then it will have the proper effect on breathing. In this way, we should today take a more thorough look at the connection between the physical and the spiritual-psychic.

[ 23 ] This brings me to a question I was asked that is of great importance: left-handedness or ambidexterity.

[ 24 ] You see, it is true that, in general, what has essentially become a common human habit—right-handedness, which is used when learning to write and in other practical skills of daily life—should be expanded by also developing dexterity in the left hand to a certain extent; this is, in a sense, justified. However, when discussing such matters, the discussion is fruitful only if one has a deeper insight into the conditions of human life. If we are moving toward an age in which the full humanity within each person is awakened, if we are moving toward an age in which the culture of emotional faculties, of the life of feeling, and of the activity of the will once again complements the abstract intellect that is so highly developed today, then we will be able to speak about many issues in a completely different way than we can today. If people continue to be educated the way our people are educated—so that they always get stuck in abstractions (materialism, after all, is precisely what gets stuck in abstractions, what fails to reach an understanding of the material from the spiritual)— then after some time, if both hands are trained to write in the same way, one will be able to see that a certain degree of mental dullness takes hold of people who learn to use both hands in the same way; for the way we are as human beings today is, to some extent, connected with the fact that we use the right hand to a greater extent than the left. Above all, this is connected to the fact that the human body as a whole is not symmetrically constructed with regard to certain organs, and that using both hands for writing, for example, represents a profound intervention in the entire human organism.

[ 25 ] I wouldn’t even be talking about these things if I hadn’t done a great deal of research on them and if I hadn’t, for example, tried to see what it means to use one’s left hand. Once one has developed the ability to observe people, one can also discover through experimentation what it means to use one’s left hand. The left hand is useful when a person has attained a certain degree of independence of the spiritual-soul aspect from the physical body; but given the degree of dependence that modern people have on the physical body, using the left hand in the same way as the right hand—for example, for writing—causes a tremendous upheaval within the physical body itself. Above all, this places a strain on the right side of the body and the right side of the head in a way to which modern people are simply not accustomed. An educational method that first treats a person by applying the foundational principles of education discussed here may then also employ ambidexterity. Modern culture must not simply transition to the use of both hands in an abstract manner. Of course, such things can only be stated based on experience. But statistics would provide substantial proof of what I have said today.

[ 26 ] Here, too, one must say: It is indeed necessary to look into the spiritual world if one wants to have an understanding of how, especially in a child, the spiritual-psychic realm works powerfully alongside the physical-bodily realm. For this reason, I have such high hopes for eurythmy, particularly in the education of children—namely because eurythmy is an animated movement and thereby elevates the activity of the will in contrast to the mere passivity of the will, which is, after all, essentially fostered precisely through purely physiological gymnastics.