The Rudolf Steiner Archive

8. The Art of Moral and Physical Education

[ 1 ] Ladies and gentlemen! It has been requested that I add a few more remarks today to what was said here last Wednesday regarding Waldorf education. Since today’s lecture was not yet planned when I gave my talk last Wednesday, I will perhaps do so in a somewhat aphoristic manner.

[ 2 ] A few days ago, I pointed out how the art of education referred to here seeks to work from a genuine understanding of the human being—that is, a comprehensive understanding of the human being, an understanding not merely of the physical or the psychological, but of the whole human being, whom we can indeed distinguish as body, soul, and spirit, which in turn work together to form a unified whole.

[ 3 ] On the other hand, I have already emphasized that if one wishes to practice the true art of education and teaching, one must keep in mind the whole person throughout their earthly life, from birth to death. For much of what is instilled through education and instruction in early childhood only comes to light—whether on the healthy or the unhealthy side of the human being—often in later life. And the educator or teacher who focuses solely on the child’s present physical and mental constitution—who shapes his or her art of education solely according to the child’s current state—is then unable to work in a knowledgeable way so that what is instilled will find expression in later life in a healthy manner that makes the person capable and harmonious within themselves. But this is precisely what the art of education referred to here has in mind. Precisely because it pursues this goal, it is not one-sided in any direction. One might easily believe—because this art of education has been shaped by anthroposophical Spiritual Science, that is, by a truly precise understanding of the spiritual in human beings and in the world—that it tends one-sidedly toward the spiritual. But that is by no means the case. Precisely because it takes the whole human being into account, the physical-bodily aspect comes to the fore to a marked degree. Indeed, one could even say that the educational and instructional approach to the spiritual and soul aspects is structured in such a way that what the educator cultivates in the child also has the best possible effect on physical health.

[ 4 ] At the Waldorf School in Stuttgart and the schools affiliated with it, we educate in such a way that every measure taken for the spiritual aspect also aims to achieve the best possible effect of that spiritual aspect on the physical aspect. And this is actually essential in a genuine, true art of education. For in the child, the soul-spiritual is not strictly separated from the physical-bodily in the same way as it is in the adult. We know, after all, what great difficulties this poses for today’s so-called philosophers when they seek to form any view regarding the relationship between the spiritual and the physical in human beings. On the one hand, there is the spiritual. It is experienced inwardly through thinking and the rest of the soul life. It unfolds in such a way that it is, in itself, entirely unlike what we encounter when we study human physicality in the conventional manner through physiology and anatomy. It is not easy to immediately bridge the gap between what we experience inwardly as the soul-spiritual and what an observation or examination of the human being in a physical-bodily sense then reveals to us.

[ 5 ] But if one observes the child and its development with an open mind, and if one is attentive to everything that happens within the child when, around the age of seven, it undergoes the first significant, transformative life event—the change of teeth—and if one considers all of this, then one notices how the child’s entire inner life changes with this change of teeth, becoming different from what it was before. Before this, we see the child’s mental images emerge in a sort of elemental, dreamlike way. Although we do see a distinct memory developing during this first stage of life, if we observe closely, we see that this memory undergoes a transformation precisely through or during the teething process. Specifically, the following transformation occurs: If one observes closely, one must say that, up until the change of teeth, the inner activity involved in recollection—that is, what lives in memory—resembles more closely an external habit, such as those formed in the child through physical activity, than it does later on. The child does remember, and even very well; but this remembering rightly seems like the repeated practice of an activity that has been acquired as a skill. The child’s entire memory during the first stage of life is actually an inner skill, the formation of an inner habit, whereas after the change of teeth and later on, the child truly begins to look back on their experiences—that is, to survey the experiences they have had inwardly in their mental image, as in a kind of retrospective. Thus, the child’s inner life undergoes a radical change in memory and the capacity to recall.

[ 6 ] The same is true of mental images. Just observe the child’s mental images with an open mind. Will is present to a high degree in all of these images. The child is simply unable to separate an inner will from a mental experience. But this separation begins with the change of teeth. In short, the child’s soul life truly undergoes a profound metamorphosis with the change of teeth. But what has actually happened there? Well, what the child reveals within itself as its true soul life after the change of teeth cannot, of course, have come out of nothing; it was already there before, but it did not express itself as it would later; it was at work in the organism’s growth forces and nutritive forces. It was an organic force, and only later did it transform into the power of memory—or, more broadly, into a free spiritual force.

[ 7 ] In this regard, if we want to work with children in a professional and competent manner, we really must get used to approaching the study of human beings with just as much courage as we do in modern physics. There, we speak of so-called latent heat—that is, heat that is bound within a substance and does not manifest as heat. But when this heat is released from the substance through some process, it becomes free heat; before that, it was bound heat. In physics, we are accustomed to this way of thinking. But when it comes to human beings, we must have the same courage. We must tell ourselves: with the change of teeth, the child’s soul life has become a free soul life; previously, it was bound to organic growth forces and was active in the processes of nutrition and growth. As much as is necessary for later life has remained, but a part has separated and become a free soul life.

[ 8 ] This is something that—if one does not merely state it as an abstract truth, as must be done here, but rather observes it firsthand as an educator—is truly just as wonderful, only it is more delicate, more subtle, and more intimate to observe—for it truly represents the greatest miracle one can experience in the world—when the attentive observer sees how the indefinite facial features of the very young child give way to defined ones, how the wriggling movements give way to increasingly coordinated movements of the limbs. This emergence of what lies at the core of the child onto the surface of the organism is indeed something marvelous, and whoever can observe this with an open, more intimate artist’s eye actually experiences, in the developing child, the unfolding of form and the unfolding of shape—truly wondrous mysteries of the world.

[ 9 ] But in a similar way, when the child is just reaching school age—that is, when the child is going through the process of losing baby teeth—we see how what was previously latent in the forces of growth is now set free and unfolds as a life of the soul. When we see this in concrete, individual terms, our enthusiasm for education is awakened within us. And we can then gradually, and truly in an appropriate manner, transform what lived within the child up until the change of teeth.

[ 10 ] The child is, after all, a being of will until the teeth begin to change, but not a being of will like an adult; rather, a being of will that is at the same time entirely sensibility. Of course, this is a relative statement, but the child is actually, if I may put it that way, a comprehensively vast sensory organ. And just as in every sensory organ not only the faculty of perception lives, but also the will—though in the fully developed sensory organs it lives in a somewhat hidden way—so too does the will live as a sensory organ within this volitional aspect of the child until the teeth begin to change. And the child perceives everything in its surroundings in a much more intimate, delicate way, but at the same time in such a way that it is imitated internally, down to the innermost essence of its organic development. The child is a subtle imitator. It is very remarkable, but the child does not merely react to what it sees in the movements of the limbs of the people around it—it also learns language by imitating what it hears—yet it does not merely observe these things and imitate them within itself; rather, it even imitates moods, indeed, thoughts. And one should indeed be able to pay attention to the imponderables of life, to the unfathomable things of life. In fact, those around a child should not even allow themselves to have an unwholesome thought—one that the child should not have—because the subtle vibrational processes that occur within us when we have an unwholesome thought are replicated in the child’s organism. What goes on between one person and another is usually not taken into account at all. And in this regard, even science today lacks a keen understanding.

[ 11 ] Allow me to insert, as it were, a parenthetical remark that might point out to us how all sorts of things play out not only between human beings, but even between human beings and animals—things that cannot be forced into the realm of what is perceived by the ordinary sense organs, without, however, belonging to the supersensible, of which I have spoken at length here in recent days. For a while, there was a great deal of talk about “calculating horses.” I did not see the most famous of these calculating horses—which, as far as I know, were in Elberfeld—but I did see a special specimen: Mr. von Osten’s horse in Berlin. I was able to study this horse in all its glory. At first glance, one could see Mr. von Osten standing next to his horse and giving it simple arithmetic problems. The horse would stamp out the answer to the problem with its hoof, and this was a great marvel to the people. But it wasn’t just ordinary people who watched this; a book was even written about Mr. von Osten’s horse by a private lecturer—a professor—a book that might even arouse a strong negative reaction. This professor’s judgment on the matter is quite peculiar. He simply cannot form a clear mental image of how it is that Mr. von Osten’s horse—when Mr. von Osten says, “Five and six is”—stamps its hoof precisely at eleven. That the horse cannot calculate in the human way is, of course, clear to anyone who knows how closely the organism is connected to its abilities. So, of course, it was nonsense for people to think that horses can really calculate. Rather, one would have to consider what is actually going on there, without the horse calculating the way a human does; yet the horse did solve the arithmetic problems. The private lecturer in question created the following mental image: when Mr. von Osten says, “Five and six is…?”—and then counts on to ten, eleven—he makes a subtle facial expression. And this subtle facial expression reveals something special when Mr. von Osten reaches eleven; at that point, something in him vibrates quite differently than it does at ten. The horse notices this and then stamps its foot. — So, it’s subtle vibrations that the horse notices. That’s the theory. But there’s an objection that the scholar in question naturally raised himself: surely one should also be able to observe what Mr. von Osten’s facial expression is like. But the private lecturer says: “Yes, I can’t observe that; humans don’t have that kind of subtle perception.” - So, it follows that a horse has better observational skills than a private lecturer. - Well, that’s taking it a bit too far, and in fact, we’re really talking about something entirely different.

[ 12 ] As I studied the entire relationship between Herr von Osten and his horse, what struck me as most important was that remarkable emotional and sensory bond that Herr von Osten constantly maintained with his horse—namely, by continually taking sugar cubes out of his pocket and giving them to the horse while it was doing its calculations. This fostered an animal affection in the horse, which was sustained by the sugar cubes; there was a sense of animal gratitude living within the horse. These are the imponderables of life. Through this, the horse actually perceived something—not through Mr. von Osten’s facial expressions, but carried along on the waves of that animal sense of gratitude brought about by the sugar—Mr. von Osten’s feelings were conveyed whenever he spoke the number eleven, when the horse was supposed to indicate that six plus five equals eleven. So what happened was that an intimate relationship was established, enabling the horse to empathize with Mr. von Osten, and in that lay a kind of emotional transmission. I do not wish to elaborate on this further now; I merely wanted to mention it here. It became clear to me after careful study. I cite it as proof that, in more primitive beings, empathy toward others does indeed take place.

[ 13 ] And this is especially true of a small child. The child experiences—even what it does not see with its eyes or hear with its ears—through other people, and carries it on within itself. So much so that we really should not allow ourselves to have an unwholesome thought in its presence, even if that unwholesome thought cannot be detected as vibrations. Thus, the child is a finely attuned sensory organ; it is, through and through, an imitator. But consider what this means. It means that whatever happens in the child’s surroundings is transmitted into the child’s physical constitution in a way that, while not detectable by external, coarse instruments, is nonetheless real. So if a quick-tempered father expresses his anger in the child’s presence and lives this way constantly alongside the child, then the child experiences these outbursts—these manifestations of anger—down to the very level of its blood circulation and the composition of its bodily fluids. And the entire physical organism develops in accordance with what the child has observed in its surroundings in a spiritual-psychic sense. Thus, the child is an imitator during the first stage of life, up until the change of teeth; but this imitation manifests itself physically within the child’s physical organism. Throughout our entire lives, we carry within us—in the finer composition of our blood vessels, our blood, and the fine structure of our nervous system—everything that was instilled in us during the first stage of life. And so, one might say, in a very tangible way, the very first education—which is carried out naturally in the parental home or elsewhere in the child’s environment—is, in the truest sense, physical education. Everything spiritual that happens to the child also permeates the physical realm. And whatever the child’s delicate physical constitution absorbs remains present in its effects and results throughout earthly life, until the person dies.

[ 14 ] Once the child has gone through the process of losing its baby teeth, this sensory nature recedes, and the child separates specific mental images from sensory perception. But what is essential in sensory perception—what is, in fact, the sole determining factor in a child’s life during the first stage of life—since the child has no abstract concepts, and it would be nonsense to teach them such things—what is the sole determining factor is vividness and imagery. This now demands the child’s entire mental image—indeed, the entire life of the soul—right up to puberty. The child wants to be taught through mental images. And any intellectualistic instruction up to the age of puberty is a sin against the development of human nature. The child must indeed be raised and taught through imagery and artistic expression. However, the relationship between the educator, the teacher, and the child is of immense importance here. I would like to illustrate this with an example.

[ 15 ] You see, when you try to teach a child a higher truth—let’s say, the truth about the immortality of the soul—you have to convey that truth through an image. You can, for example, tell the child by gradually guiding them toward it: Here is the caterpillar, which turns into a chrysalis. You show the child the pupa, the cocoon; then you show them how the butterfly emerges. Then you explain to the child that the human soul rests within the human body just as the butterfly does within the cocoon, that the human soul is simply invisible and emerges at death. Of course, the intention here is not to provide the child with proof of the immortality of the soul; that would naturally give rise to a valid objection, one that people have already raised. My sole aim is to show how one can vividly create an image of the immortality of the soul for the child. The child will learn about the evidence for this later on. During the period from the loss of baby teeth to puberty, the child should simply be exposed to all kinds of images; these enliven the child’s inner life and shape it in a way that is fruitful for the child’s entire human life.

[ 16 ] Now, two things can happen. First, there may be a teacher or an educator who thinks to himself: “I am very smart, and this child is very stupid.”—It is, after all, the most natural thing—or at least it seems to be—to think that way. How could a teacher not be very smart and the child very stupid! So, for the stupid child, one creates this mental image of the butterfly emerging from its cocoon and tells it to the child. One will not see much success. It does not touch the child’s soul.

[ 17 ] But something else can also happen. It may be that one does not even say to oneself: “I am a very clever teacher, and the child is very stupid.” Nor do I mean to say that one should adopt the opposite view. But one can do something else. One can take the standpoint that one sees in this image a picture placed into nature by the spiritual forces of the world, so that one approaches this image with faith, perceiving it as something the creative forces of nature have set before one—as a reflection of what occurs on a higher level than the soul’s emergence from physicality. If one imbues this image with one’s own faith, if one stands fully within it, and if one teaches it to the child out of that very enthusiasm in which one oneself stands as a believer in the image, then it takes effect; then it becomes fruitful for the child.

[ 18 ] This example shows that no matter how intelligent a teacher or educator may be, it doesn’t help much. Intelligence is helpful in some ways—and of course, it’s better for a teacher to be intelligent than foolish—but that’s not what makes him a true master of education. What makes him a true master of education is that he approaches the whole world with his own spirit in such a way that a living relationship with the child is possible—that what lives within him can continue in the child’s spirit. Then there is not a forced authority, but a natural authority. And it is this natural authority upon which all instruction and all education between the change of teeth and sexual maturity must be built. Therefore, we must indeed place the utmost value on the pictorial nature of instruction at the beginning of compulsory schooling, teaching everything to the child through images. And only as late as possible—if at all, only when puberty approaches, that is, between the ages of thirteen and fourteen—can we slowly begin with those school subjects that require abstract thinking. For we should remove the child as late as possible from the immediate experience of reality in their surroundings; we should allow them to remain immersed in this experience of reality in their surroundings. For between the change of teeth and puberty, there is still something present—albeit in a more subdued form—of what exists from early childhood up to the change of teeth: that everything continues into the physical body.

[ 19 ] Well, in the second stage of life, the child no longer experiences everything—everything the child perceives and experiences up to the time of tooth replacement—with such intensity that it becomes an organic part of the child. But there is still a tremendous difference in how the spiritual is introduced to the child, even in relation to the child’s physical development. And here the teacher must indeed achieve something that cannot be achieved through theories, but only through the artistic element that weaves its way through and works within education. Let us again consider a specific point: One can argue theoretically as much as one likes that one should not overload the child with material to memorize. That is all very well when stated abstractly, and it is also correct. But ultimately, the point is that the child is, after all, organized in such a way as to develop a memory. So material to be memorized must certainly be expected of the child; one must simply be able to feel and observe—through a genuine understanding of human nature—how much of the material expected to be memorized is appropriate and how much is inappropriate, for an immense amount depends on this.

[ 20 ] An educator who is an artist will find in the child’s very appearance a sort of barometer indicating how much material to commit to memory he can reasonably expect the child to absorb—and how much he cannot. For the fact is this: If we expect a child to memorize too much, what happens then? Indeed, where does the power of memory come from? Observe what happens during the change of teeth: the growth forces—the forces at work in nutrition—are released and begin to act on the soul. What occurs suddenly on a large scale at that time continues to happen continuously later on. That is why we must draw growth forces from the digestion of food, because the entire life of a human being is a transformation of the healthy growth forces—which are at work in organ formation and blood formation—into free spiritual energy.

[ 21 ] What happens all at once—in a single burst, so to speak—during the change of teeth happens continuously whenever we incorporate something into our memory. What affects us truly has an effect on the physical organism when we perceive it, when it is communicated to us in words and so on. The fact that the physical organism is involved is experienced by anyone who is expected to incorporate something into their memory—for example, to memorize a poem. Just observe someone who is trying to memorize something: look at everything they do with their physical organism in order to incorporate that material into it. But what is then stored in the physical organism cannot yet be recalled; what lies at the root in the forces of growth and nutrition must first be transformed into soul forces, and it is within the soul forces that memory takes effect. If I demand too much of the child in terms of memory, then I deprive it of too many life forces, vital forces, and the consequence of this—when I look at the whole picture—is that the child turns pale; the child experiences something that stems from these depleted organic forces; it becomes anxious. Now one must be attentive to this paleness, to this anxiety. For if one persistently and recklessly aims to burden the child with too much material to memorize, then the child will lag behind in growth. This lag in growth is caused by improper intellectual demands, by inappropriate material to memorize. And the damage one inflicts on the organism in this way manifests itself even in old age in the most diverse metabolic diseases, particularly through the accumulation of uric acid or similar substances in the organism.

[ 22 ] Here you have something that is extremely important: One must guide the child’s mental development in such a way that it has the right effect on the organism—so that, for example, one does not overload the child with material to be memorized in a way that leads to metabolic diseases later in life. And if people were aware of the connection between gout and rheumatism in later life and between improper teaching practices—specifically, the unreasonable demand to memorize too much material—then they would finally be standing on a realistic foundation when it comes to the art of education. Then people would know that it is not the case that intellectual education stands apart from physical education, because everything done in intellectual education has a direct effect on the child’s physical constitution, and everything done for physical development, in turn, has an effect on the child’s intellectual development. If you observe that one child has a melancholic temperament and another has a more sanguine temperament, this makes a significant difference in how the child is treated.

[ 23 ] For example, if you notice that a child with a melancholic temperament might become physically dangerous, it is necessary to contact the parents. And the Waldorf school is a school that is entirely built on maintaining close ties with parents. At the Waldorf school, the children’s parents are invited to a parents’ meeting every month, and sometimes even more often. There, they discuss what is necessary for the school and the home to work together effectively. And there is a great deal that needs to be addressed. For example, if a child has a melancholic disposition, we know that this is related to secretions in the digestive glands—particularly those of the liver—and we also know that this, in turn, is linked to sugar consumption. Working together with the parents, we then adjust the child’s diet with regard to the amount of added sugar in their meals. As an educator, one therefore takes the position, on the one hand, that one must take the physical into account in every respect, insofar as it can serve as the foundation for the spiritual, and, on the other hand, that one must educate the child in such a way as to foster the healthiest possible physical condition with the help of the spiritual.

[ 24 ] Now consider the opposite case. Not overloading students with material to memorize, but the exact opposite; I am referring to a modern teacher who says: “We must not expect students to memorize anything; we will completely disregard memorization.” — I often want to say to those people who keep shouting, “Hands-on learning! Visual instruction!”—I’d like to say: “Yes, if you don’t challenge the child’s memory enough, you’ll notice it in the child.” The child’s complexion then takes on an unhealthy reddish hue, and the child also begins to complain of all sorts of internal pressure; finally, one notices that the child is growing at an extraordinary rate. And if one investigates the matter, one finds that by depriving the child of the necessary material for memorization, the body becomes unable to properly absorb the food that is ingested into its organs. When there is too little digestive enzyme, even the stomach begins to secrete insufficient acid, or the acids it secretes are not sufficient to facilitate digestion properly. This affects the entire organism; it becomes less capable of absorption than it should be. And one can observe how such a human organism, years later, after having gone through something like this in school, is always hungry, yet still does not function properly internally. The person then tends easily to develop very specific forms of lung diseases and the like. In every area, the person who practices true understanding of human nature will not drift off into the cloud-cuckoo-land of mere spirituality, but will keep the whole human being—spirit, soul, and body—in mind. And this is especially necessary for the art of education.

[ 25 ] In school, one must, of course, strike the right balance: on the one hand, engage the child intellectually—though I use the term “intellectually” only for those things that are directly imparted to the soul; the intellectual, as such, should initially be avoided until close to puberty—and one must engage the child physically through gymnastics, physical education, and so on in eurythmy. And if one is too abstract in this regard, and organizes these things based on abstract principles—often, in fact, simply to create the most convenient schedule possible—then none of this means anything. Instead, the following must be taken into account: when you have the child in front of you and teach them something in reading, writing, or arithmetic—something that affects their soul above all else—a process takes place in the organism that clearly demonstrates how everything demanded of the head has a polar opposite effect to what is demanded of the limbs, the musculoskeletal system, and the motor system. It is simply not true, for example, that one becomes less tired during physical education or gymnastics than while learning to read and write. This has been demonstrated by empirical studies in experimental psychology. If a physical education class is sandwiched between other classes—say, math from nine to ten, physical education from ten to eleven, and history from eleven to twelve—then the child is not rested for the history class after having done physical education; on the contrary.

[ 26 ] This is something entirely different. It is a matter of the fact that anyone who is capable of truly understanding human nature knows that something is at work within the organism, even if only semi-consciously. - And in children, much remains semi-conscious—things that are not observed at all in human life and that are never brought into consciousness later on. What is at work here is that, through more soul-spiritual activity, the capacity for desire is aroused, so that one allows this to play out, rather than merely organizing things in an external way. One must simply structure the soul-spiritual instruction in such a way that it stirs up the inner physical disposition for gymnastics. If I let a child do gymnastics when the child has no inner, organic desire for it, then the gymnastics will have such an effect on the child that the child will very soon show that it can no longer cope with the flow of forces that it does not carry inward through the physical exercises. After all, in human beings, everything that develops through physical movement must be carried forward inwardly. While we are moving our bodies, metabolic processes take place internally; something that can be called a combustion process brought to life is carried out there. And what is carried out there continues to have an effect throughout the entire organism.

[ 27 ] If I have the child perform gymnastics without the child having a desire to do so, then the child cannot cope with this internal metabolic process, and the result is that I will notice: such a child becomes highly emotional as a result of the gymnastics. All sorts of passions develop within the child. If I have the child do gymnastics without an organic desire for it, I can even cause an inner mood to develop in a pathological way, driving the child’s emotions to the point of tantrums. This is something that can become ingrained in a person’s character for the rest of their life. All of this can only be avoided for a truly healthy physical development of the human being if, as an educator, one possesses the right spiritual instincts regarding how to structure the gymnastics lesson in relation to the other lessons—where mental and spiritual activities are pursued—so that during these latter lessons, the desire for gymnastics is then awakened. In this way, however, the gymnastics can continue to influence the organism so that it can properly utilize the forces developed within it through the exercises.

[ 28 ] It really does come down to being a kind of artist who approaches the developing human being in the child with an artistic perspective, but also with that immense sense of responsibility—which, of course, does not exist when dealing with an inanimate work of art. The developing human being—that is, this marvelous interplay of a thousand different forces working together. This cannot be understood through theoretical pedagogy, any more than one could instruct someone to regulate their own digestion using theoretical physiology. It can only be done through intuitive observation.

[ 29 ] And so, the one who educates from a deep understanding of human nature will educate and teach in the spiritual realm in such a way that a healthy body is thereby developed. And they will regulate the physical aspect in such a way that it can form the healthy foundation for the all-around development of the spiritual. But this can only happen if there is such a relationship of intimate mutual understanding between the teacher and the child as I indicated using the example of the image of the emerging butterfly to illustrate the fact of human immortality. If this relationship exists, then a natural sense of authority—which I spoke of in the previous lecture as something necessary in general pedagogy—will also develop with regard to the purely spiritual realm. The teacher and educator will truly become, so to speak, the child’s representative of truth, beauty, and goodness. The child should not decide in an abstract way, through mere judgment—which belongs to a later stage of life—what is true and what is false, what is beautiful and what is ugly, what is good and what is evil. Rather, the child should perceive something as true when the teacher or educator—who is, of course, deeply revered—perceives it as true. This must be the point of reference. The child must learn to perceive as beautiful what the teacher and educator perceives as beautiful, and what arises from the existence of the right relationship between child and teacher. The same applies to good and evil.

[ 30 ] This, however, raises a particular concern regarding moral education in a child’s development—one that absolutely must be addressed in the proper manner. You see, a person becomes virtually crippled inwardly in moral terms if moral concepts are taught to them too early in an abstract way through moral commandments: “You must,” “You must not!”—“You may do this,” “You may not do that!” The child should learn from the guiding teacher and educator what is good and what is evil. For this to happen, however, the connecting link must be present: the teacher must influence the child in such a way that the child is drawn to what is good, takes pleasure in it, and feels aversion toward what is evil. We must first work toward morality not by commanding what is moral and forbidding what is immoral—please take this to heart, my esteemed audience; this nuance is of the utmost importance—but rather by developing in the child, between the change of teeth and sexual maturity, an experience of good and evil in their feelings, not in their volitional impulses. Goodness must appeal to us inwardly. We must develop love and sympathy for goodness before we can make it a moral obligation for the will. What is to be morally binding on the will must first grow out of what was morally pleasing or repulsive to the feelings.

[ 31 ] And once again, the best way to bring to fruition what is meant to develop within the child is by working through imagery. If, as teachers and educators, we have enough imagination to present historical-moral role models or historical-moral figures—whom one should not emulate—and if we understand how to describe them vividly enough so that the child develops a sense of approval or disapproval of their actions, or if we invent such stories—which is even better, for in this way, as educators, we are even more closely connected to what we present as a source of pleasure—then we awaken moral experience from within the child’s feelings. And then the remarkable thing happens: just as sexual love develops from the organic, so too, when the child reaches sexual maturity, the proper moral impulses of the will develop from a properly guided moral pleasure or displeasure. And this is the greatest aspect of education: that what is only truly meant to develop through inner spiritual growth from a latent predisposition also develops of its own accord. This is a better form of education than one that seeks to force everything onto the child. If we wish to educate morally, morality must grow within the will, but it grows only if we plant the seed for it in the child. And we can do this during the stage of life when the child is dependent on love and sympathy for the teacher, by kindling the feeling of approval for what is good and disapproval for what is evil.

[ 32 ] It all comes down to ensuring that we present people with what is right at the right stage of their lives. Then this right will bear fruit in later life. Just as when we plant an acorn in the ground, the branches, leaves, and fruits eventually develop above ground, so too, if we have planted the right seed in a child, a sense of moral approval or disapproval develops in the seventh or eighth year, and a corresponding sense of duty develops in the seventeenth or eighteenth year.

[ 33 ] It is, however, of particular importance that we also know how to guide the child’s religious development in this sense. This religious development of the child—if it is to be truly authentic—and a religious education truly leads to something religious only when this religious feeling arises very deeply from within the human soul itself—cannot be achieved at all by imparting to the child the content of any religious story or the content of a creed. Rather, all religious education must actually be brought to the human soul in such a way that the teacher and educator is able to awaken the religious mood within the child. If this mood is not present within the teacher or educator themselves, they cannot develop it in the child either. But if the religious disposition is within him, then all he needs to do is what we practice in the Waldorf school for what is called “Free Religious Education.”

[ 34 ] The Waldorf School—and I would like to emphasize this explicitly here—is not an ideological school. We do not seek to raise young anthroposophists in the Waldorf School; rather, we want to use anthroposophy so that the Waldorf School can be, in the true sense of the word, a school of methodology. That is what it is. We simply want to gain the correct educational method in all areas through anthroposophy. It is a slander to say that anthroposophy is taught in the Waldorf School. Precisely to prevent this misconception from arising—because it is entirely incorrect—I have stipulated from the very beginning that religious instruction in Waldorf schools be provided by the respective religious communities. This ensures that Catholic children can receive Catholic religious instruction from Catholic clergy, and that Protestant children can receive Protestant religious instruction from Protestant teachers.

[ 35 ] Due to the unique circumstances under which the Waldorf School was founded, there were many children of dissidents at the school. For them, we initially set up optional Christian religious education classes on a trial basis. And we were gratified to see that children of entirely atheist parents attended these optional religious education classes with their parents’ consent. It’s fair to say that these optional religious education classes are exceptionally well attended. But we are strictly mindful that we are not dealing with an ideologically-based school, but rather with a school based on pedagogical methods—a school of pedagogy in the broadest sense, so that the right content is presented to the child in the right way and at the right time. So the elective religious education classes are intended only for children who attend voluntarily. However, there are far more of these children than those who receive instruction from Catholic or Protestant religious education teachers. That is something beyond our control. They feel exceptionally at home in the elective religious education classes, which are thoroughly Christian in nature; whereas otherwise they would run away from such instruction. But I’m just stating this as a fact, not to pass judgment.

[ 36 ] Yes, but the fact is that this elective religious education is structured from the following perspective: In reality, religious influence can be exerted in every class, in every subject. And that is indeed what happens here. If the teacher himself connects everything that exists in sensory-physical life to the supersensory-divine through the mood of his own soul, then everything actually transitions—not in a sentimental, mystical, or vague way, but in a natural way—from the physical to the spiritual. One simply needs to have the necessary tact. Then, however, what is presented to the child through the various school subjects can be synthesized within a religious atmosphere. For this purpose, we have these few special religion classes, which we have the children attend separately each week as part of our elective religion instruction. So there, what otherwise lives in the lessons and leads toward the divine-spiritual is simply summarized by what emerges as a guidance toward the divine-spiritual from the contemplation of nature and from the observation of humanity’s historical experience. So that, little by little, with the proper development of the religious mood, the moral impulses are indeed felt by the child as that in which God speaks within human nature, within the human being itself.

[ 37 ] To this end, however, we must cultivate something that is essential for moral education and for the proper development of religious sentiment—something that is often given far too little consideration today: We must begin early to foster in the child a sincere, yet also completely open, sense of gratitude. Certainly, in the natural, self-evident relationship that must exist between the teacher and the child—between the time of losing baby teeth and reaching puberty—love must grow, and great care must be taken in fostering this development of love. But gratitude must be cultivated in such a way that the child feels what they have received. Whatever it may be, what is received from another calls for the feeling of gratitude. In the awakening of gratitude, an immense enrichment of the soul takes place. Even with very young children, one should ensure that they grow into a sense of gratitude. If one pays attention to this in young children, then this feeling of gratitude transforms—metamorphoses—into love as the child enters the second stage of life. Love takes on this special quality in all circumstances of life: it is permeated by gratitude. And anyone who observes human social life even a little knows what an important impetus this would be—especially in addressing major social issues—if we could once again educate people in such a way that gratitude lives within them. For this gratitude is a bridge that cannot otherwise be built between one human soul and another, between one human heart and another.

[ 38 ] If people understood how to treat one another with gratitude, then much of what today often appears in a grotesque manner as so-called social demands, social radicalism, and the like would not exist—though I am not advocating for this or that solution to the social problem. You can read what I have to say on this subject in my book *The Key Points of the Social Question*. But if this gratitude is planted as a seed early in a child’s life, if it becomes ingrained in the child’s love during the period between losing baby teeth and reaching sexual maturity, if it is instilled in the child spiritually as well, so that with sexual maturity the soul also unfolds in true love for humanity, for all of nature, and for the divine -spiritual essences—if gratitude is present in all these areas—then a religious disposition unfolds within the human being in such a way that they can possess something within themselves that serves as an immense protection for the soul: gratitude toward the divine-spiritual powers for life itself. It is important for the inner warmth of life, for the inner support of life, that we can have this feeling: We are grateful to the divine-spiritual powers for this earthly life. This feeling of gratitude for life is a powerful life force. I would like to say: just as the organic forces in the blood intensify the body’s vitality, so too does a similar process occur in what spiritually vitalizes the soul when that soul is able to develop grateful love toward the entire universe in relation to its own life.

[ 39 ] In this way, one can attempt, through the art of education and instruction referred to here, to create an environment for the individual that does not educate them one-sidedly in the physical realm and, alongside that, one-sidedly in the spiritual realm, but rather to create an environment that allows the spirit living in the body and the body bearing the creative spirit to flow into one another in the proper way. In this way, one teaches both spiritually and physically at the same time. This is the only correct approach; for within the human being, too, there is a unity of the spiritual and the physical. However, such an education must not be a one-sided, theoretical-scientific education; rather, it must be a true art. Education—all teaching—must be an art that lives within the teacher and the act of teaching. Then, however, one may well believe that nature itself, with the divine-spiritual powers at work within it, is the great artist. And whoever cannot translate the abstract laws of nature into artistic form fundamentally does not understand what weaves and lives within nature.

[ 40 ] But what, ultimately, is the core of this entire view of education and instruction? — Yes, there is much talk today about how a child should be raised in one way or another. People lay down rules regarding more or less intellectual instruction and education, and regarding more or less will-based instruction and education. It’s all very well. There is much talk about the child, and rightly so. All the focus of education should be directed toward the child. But this can only be the case if the individual teacher, instructor, and educator can truly look deeply into the child with an artistic eye that perceives the whole human being. Therefore, every real question of education must be directed toward a question of the teacher, a question of the educator. And this is precisely what Waldorf school pedagogy has become, along with everything we do in our conferences and in the discussions among teachers. For ultimately, the teaching staff is the soul of such an art of education, but it is the soul only when the individual personalities work together.

[ 41 ] But let me say this in closing: When you enter a school that is run in accordance with this art of education, when you observe the entire mindset of the teaching staff—which, after all, radiates everything that happens in every class and with every single child—then it must be as if, above the door where the teachers gather for their most intimate consultations, were inscribed the ever-admonishing words: “All the art of education should be, for you, the fulfillment of the demand for your own self-education. Your self-education, you teachers, is the seed of everything you can accomplish as educators of children. Indeed, you will accomplish nothing for the children other than what arises from your own self-education.” —But this must not merely stand as an admonition from without; rather, it must be deeply inscribed in the heart, in the soul, and in the mind of every single teacher and educator. For what truly educates a person so that they can be a capable member of the world order is that they are useful to their fellow human beings. What can and must be accomplished in this way for education—especially in our time, when life has become so complicated, when life needs uplifting forces instead of destructive ones—what must be effective here is the realization that true, genuine human education education in love, is that which, while fostered through the devoted effort of the mind as a means, essentially springs from the teacher’s soul, spirit, and heart.