The Rudolf Steiner Archive

3. The Spiritual Foundation of Education III

[ 1 ] To what I had to say yesterday about older paths to spiritual insight, I would like to add today, as a further example, the path that has been taken through asceticism in the broadest sense of the word. This brings me to a description of a path that we are even less able to follow in our present age than the one I described yesterday. In our time, in our civilization, different attitudes and habits prevail among people than in those times when people once sought higher spiritual insight through asceticism. And so, just as we must replace the path of yoga today with something more spiritual and soulful, we as modern people must also replace the path of asceticism with another. But we can more easily understand what is meant by the modern path into spiritual life if we base our concepts on what was actually intended by a method such as asceticism.

[ 2 ] Asceticism essentially consists of certain exercises. These exercises, however, can also extend to the emotional and spiritual realms. But I want now, above all, to consider how such exercises were performed in order to, in a certain way, shut the body out of the whole of human experience for certain periods of time. And it is precisely through this shutting out of the body that an experience in the spiritual world is brought about. Such exercises consisted in training the body in a certain way so that, through the suffering, pain, and mortification it endured, it became capable of learning to endure pain without, so to speak, becoming overly agitated in the soul; so that it learned to endure physical suffering without sinking into that physical suffering with its whole soul. Through this mortification, through this striving for a certain endurance on the part of the human body, it was anticipated that as the body became increasingly numbed, so to speak, the spiritual within it would rise up, free itself, and lead to a certain direct perception, to a direct experience. It is simply a fact—even though these methods are not recommended today—that to the same extent that the human organism is physically numbed, it allows the human being to take in the spiritual-soul being within themselves. The spiritual becomes—and this is simply a fact—perceptible when the physical is suppressed in its activity.

[ 3 ] I would like to use a comparison to clarify what I actually want to say. Let’s consider the human eye. The human eye exists to serve as a mediator for the perception of light. By what means alone can the human eye make light perceptible to a person? By this—and I’ll put it somewhat figuratively—that it wants nothing for itself. The moment the eye itself wants something internally, let’s say, at the moment when the organic activity—the life activity—within the eye itself becomes too vigorous; when, for example, the lens or the vitreous body becomes opaque or hardens; when, in other words, the eye moves from selflessness into selfishness—then the eye is no longer a servant of the human being. The eye must not claim to be something for its own sake. This is, of course, meant in a relative sense, but everything that is to be expressed must, after all, be expressed in a somewhat absolute way. Life itself renders it relative. Thus we can say: The eye owes its transparency to light to the fact that it separates itself from the human being, that it is selfless.

[ 4 ] If we want to look into the spiritual world—and by “looking” I mean, of course, in a soul-spiritual sense—then we must, so to speak, turn our entire organism into an eye. We do not need to make our entire organism physically transparent, as is the case with the eye, but we must make it transparent in a soul-spiritual sense—transparent in a soul-spiritual sense. It must no longer be an obstacle to our communion with the world.

[ 5 ] Now, I certainly won’t say that our physical organism, as we exist in life, is in any way sick—just as the eye would be sick if it claimed a life of its own. Just as we exist in ordinary life, our entire organism is already fine; it is already completely normal. It must be opaque. We will see in the subsequent lectures how our organism cannot be an eye in ordinary life, how it must be opaque. We find rest for our ordinary soul life within our organism precisely because it is opaque, because we do not always have the entire spiritual world of the cosmos before us when we look around. So for everyday life, it is indeed correct, it is indeed normal, that our organism is opaque. But one cannot perceive the spiritual world through it, just as one cannot perceive light through a severely diseased eye. And because our organism is purified through suffering, through pain, through trials it overcomes, it becomes transparent. And this indeed opens up the possibility—just as the eye, when it becomes completely clear within itself, gains the ability to perceive the world of light around it—so too does the entire organism gain the ability to perceive the spiritual world around it when we make the organism transparent in this way.

[ 6 ] What I have just described is precisely what, in earlier times—from which the most important religious views originate, views that have been passed down to our time through tradition rather than through the independent discoveries of present-day humanity—led to the physical asceticism that I have just attempted to illustrate.

[ 7 ] We cannot emulate this asceticism today. In earlier times, it was a common attitude among people that when one sought knowledge, when one wanted to hear about what went on in the supersensible, spiritual worlds, one turned to solitary individuals—those who had withdrawn from the world. It was a common belief that one could learn nothing from people who were caught up in everyday life, that what needed to be known about the spiritual worlds could only be attained in solitude, and that a person had to become someone other than the ordinary person in order to possess knowledge and insight.

[ 8 ] Given our current worldview, we would no longer be able to think that way today. We strive to believe only in those people who can stand on their own two feet in life, who can lend a helping hand to others, who are of value in life, who can work and act, and who know how life works. That solitude which in earlier times was regarded as a prerequisite for higher knowledge no longer serves as our guiding principle today. Today, if we want to believe in human beings, we need to see before us the active human being—the person who does not withdraw from life but who, on the contrary, throws himself into it. Therefore, it is impossible for us to develop the same attitude toward the kind of knowledge that once led people to the ascetic in order to learn from him how things work in the divine-spiritual world.

[ 9 ] Well, for these reasons, we must today—without rendering our bodies physically incapable of action through asceticism—strive for transparency from within the soul and spirit themselves. We can do this. We can do so because we have acquired precise concepts and ideas through our centuries-long development of the natural sciences. We can train our thinking in accordance with this scientific development. What I am saying here is not directed against the intellectual. The intellectual should be the basis in everything; precise thinking should be the foundation. But what must be built upon this intellectuality, upon this precise thinking, is that which then leads into the spiritual world.

[ 10 ] Today, it is extraordinarily easy to demand that people think clearly. I have no objection to clear thinking. In an age that has come centuries after the achievements of Copernicus and Galileo, clear thinking is—I would say—a matter of course today. It is just a pity that it has not yet become a matter of course for the broadest circles. But, fundamentally speaking, it is easy to think clearly if that clarity is achieved at the expense of the richness and substance of thought. Empty thoughts can easily be clear. But our entire development must be based on rich, clear thoughts—clear thoughts full of substance.

[ 11 ] Well, we initially achieve the same thing that the ancient ascetic achieved through mortification and the numbing of the physical organism by, in a sense, taking our own spiritual development into our own hands—for example, by asking ourselves at a certain point in our lives: What habits do you have? What are your particular idiosyncrasies? What are your bad habits? What are your sympathies and antipathies?—And after one has written all this down clearly before one’s soul, one tries, to begin with, to create a mental image—in a simple, perhaps very simple way—of what one would be like if one were to develop a different kind of antipathy, a different kind of sympathy, or a different element of one’s psychological life.

[ 12 ] We must not take such things lightly, for it sometimes takes many years to do from within what life otherwise does. Let’s take an honest look at ourselves. We’ll say to ourselves: We weren’t like this 10 years ago. The inner substance of the soul—and its inner formation as well—have become quite different. But what caused this to happen? Life. Quite unconsciously, we have surrendered ourselves to life. We have thrown ourselves into the stream of life. If we can now do for ourselves what life otherwise does, we can look—I would say—at what we are meant to become in 10 years, and resolve to do so, set our minds to it, and then work toward it with iron will to truly bring it to fruition. So let us condense the whole of life—which is otherwise vast and works upon us—into the smallness of our own “I”; let us concentrate the power that is otherwise spread out like an ocean of life into the will of our own “I”; let us advance ourselves, let us make something of ourselves—then what the ancient ascetic accomplished from the outside will be accomplished from within. He weakened the body so that the will and insight might rise strongly from the weak body and the weak body might become transparent to the spiritual world. We must strengthen the will, strengthen the power of thought, so that they become stronger than the body, which carries on with its own affairs; then we compel the body to become transparent to the world of the spirit. We are doing exactly the opposite of what the ancient ascetic did.

[ 13 ] You see, I have described these things in my book *How Does One Attain Insights into the Higher Worlds?*. People have often regarded something that was entirely different as “ancient asceticism,” viewing it as if it were ancient asceticism in a new form. Anyone who reads carefully will find that everything is something entirely different from what this old asceticism was. But one cannot practice this new asceticism—through which one does not withdraw from life and retreat into a hermitage, but rather remains firmly rooted in the fullness of life—without looking beyond the present moment and into the future.

[ 14 ] Just think about it: you have to imagine what kind of person you might want to be in 10 years. So one must take into account the whole person, from birth to death. It is easy for a person to live only in the moment. What is at stake is learning to live over time, throughout one’s entire life. Then the spiritual world becomes transparent to us, and we do indeed see—when our body becomes transparent in this way—a spiritual world all around us.

[ 15 ] Everything that is described, for example, in my *Outline of Esoteric Science* is based solely on such knowledge, within which the human body is as transparent as the eye is to light.

[ 16 ] Now you will say again: Yes, but you can’t expect every teacher to have already attained such spiritual insight before becoming an educator or an instructor. Once again, as I said yesterday regarding yoga, I must say: That is not necessary at all. For it is precisely all that the child brings to us in the physical realm—as a message from the spiritual world—that we must first seek in order to attain higher insight. Thus, if the teacher has the right instincts, he or she naturally grows into a spiritual approach to the child. But our intellectual age has in many ways strayed from such a spiritual approach and treats everything intellectually. And so we have come to tell ourselves today in education: You should educate in such a way that the child understands everything equally at his or her level. — Yes, this very easily leads us to triviality, which can be extraordinarily convenient in the moment of education. We achieve a great deal in the moment if we teach the child everything as trivially as possible, so that it is tailored to his or her level of understanding. But the person who thinks this way—from a purely intellectual standpoint—does not take into account the entire course of a person’s life; they do not consider what will become of a feeling I inspire in the child once the child has grown into an older man, an older woman, or an elderly person. They do not take life into account; they do not, for example, take the following into account:

[ 17 ] Let’s assume: I have a clear realization within me that, between the time a child loses its baby teeth and reaches sexual maturity, one should rely primarily on authority—that the child needs examples in order to believe in them; then I teach the child something that it believes because I am, for it, the mediator of the divine-spiritual world. It believes me. It takes in the idea, though it does not yet understand it. After all, there is so much we do not understand that we unconsciously absorbed during childhood. If we were to absorb only what we understand during childhood, we would have very little to draw upon for later life. And Jean Paul, the German poet and thinker, would not have been able to say that one gains more in terms of human life during the first three years of life than during three years of academic study.

[ 18 ] But let’s consider what it means when, say, at the age of 35, due to some situation in life, I get the feeling: “Something is welling up inside you now”—something you heard from your teacher long ago. You were perhaps only 8 or 9 years old; you didn’t understand any of it at the time. But he was a figure you looked up to. You believed him. It became part of your soul, part of your memory. Now it’s coming to the surface. It’s now making sense in the context of life. You realize this.

[ 19 ] For those who, in later life, are able to draw up from the very depths of their inner life something they only come to understand then, this is a source of vitality. It constantly infuses them with vitality. So when one senses something rising up in the soul—something one had previously absorbed out of reverence or respect for authority, and only now understands—these are the very things that make us aware that, if we wish to educate properly, we must not focus on the moment but on the whole of life. And this is what we must aim for in everything we teach the child.

[ 20 ] I have just been told that yesterday some took offense at the image used to teach the child a concept of how a human being can partake in immortality. I did not say “eternity,” but rather “immortality.” I said: the image that immediately comes to mind is that of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. This image was not intended to illustrate anything more than what was subsequently added—namely, the soul’s emergence from the physical body,

[ 21 ] One objection to this is precisely what has already been dispelled by this image; for this image was offered precisely to counter the objection that the butterfly’s emergence from its chrysalis is not a proper concept of immortality. Of course, in the logical sense, it is not a proper concept. But the point is precisely what kind of concept we should teach the child, what kind of image we want to implant in the child’s soul, so as not to introduce logic too early. From what is presented to the child as an image—let’s say, from the ages of 8 or 9, since that is the age we have been discussing, and not because this is how one teaches a philosopher—it is from this that the correct concept of immortality first develops.

[ 22 ] So what really matters here is the vibrant grasp of existence. That is precisely what is so incredibly difficult to comprehend in our intellectualistic age. It goes without saying that we must teach a child something different from what it will become later in life; otherwise, it would be wrong to characterize the child as clumsy or fidgety—which is exactly what it is, if we were to apply that characterization to the adult. For those who observe life, there are not only young and grown children, but also childlike and adult mental images and concepts. And it is this life—not this state of adulthood—that one must observe if one wants to be and become a true educator and teacher.

[ 23 ] It seems to me a fortunate turn of events that I did not take over the leadership of the Waldorf School founded by Emil Molt in Stuttgart until 1919, the very year the school was established. For although I had previously been professionally involved in education and teaching to a great extent, I would have had to conclude that such a major educational and teaching task as that entrusted to me by the Waldorf School would have previously taken up a life that I do not believe could have been managed in the same way—of course, this is meant relatively, to a certain extent—as we, the teaching staff of the Stuttgart Waldorf School, are able to manage this task. And this is because I would not have dared, beforehand, to train a teaching staff in such a way that it could have consisted, to the extent that it did in those years, of people who truly understood human nature—and that, in turn, meant people who truly understood children. For all true pedagogy, all true didactics, must, as I have already said, be based on an understanding of human nature. To do this, however, one must first create the opportunity to properly penetrate the essence of the human being. And with regard to this penetration into the essence of the human being—if I may now speak of this personal matter only in general terms—my first insights came to me about 35 years ago.

[ 24 ] These were spiritual insights into the nature of the human being and into human development. Spiritual insights, I say, not intellectual ones. But spiritual truths play a different role in life than intellectual ones do. What one has understood intellectually—what one has, as they say, “proven”—one can also communicate to others, for the matter is complete once the logic is complete. Spiritual truths are not complete once the logic is complete. Spiritual truths are those that must first be lived through with people in order to be fully realized. And so I would never have dared to voice certain truths about the nature of the human being, as they came to me 35 years ago. I only dared to speak these things in my book *On the Mysteries of the Soul* a few years ago. More than 30 years lay between the initial conception and the sharing of these truths with the world. Why? For the simple reason that one must first have viewed such truths at various stages of life; they must first have accompanied one through the different stages of life. What one conceives of as spiritual truths as a young person at 23 or 24 is experienced quite differently at 35 or 36, and again at 45 or 46. And I’ll mention just one fact—I didn’t dare to articulate in a book for the world to read the principles of human knowledge until I had passed the age of fifty. But even that I was only able to share now with a faculty of teachers, so that it might become the fundamental understanding the teachers can then possess and apply to each individual child.

[ 25 ] And so I may say that when my little book was published: *The Education of the Child from the Perspective of Spiritual Science*, I believed I was speaking about education in the same way as someone who simply disagrees with certain aspects of today’s educational system, who wants to gain a deeper understanding of this or that, and so on. But back then, when I wrote this little book, I would not yet have been able to take on a task such as leading the Waldorf School, for that required, above all, a faculty with an understanding of human nature inspired by the spiritual world. This understanding of human nature is extraordinarily difficult to attain today. Today we acquire knowledge of nature relatively easily; we form a relatively easy understanding of what constitutes the culmination of organic evolution. We start at the bottom with the simplest living beings and clarify how this has developed all the way up to the human being. There the human being stands as the culmination. But we know only how the human being stands as the culmination of organic creation. We do not look into the human being itself. We do not look into its very essence. We know only to what extent the human being is the highest animal, but we do not know what the human being actually is, even as we acquire knowledge of nature that has reached such great perfection—a knowledge against which not the slightest objection should be raised here, but which, on the contrary, should be fully admired. But our lives are permeated by this knowledge of nature. Education, however, requires knowledge of human nature—specifically, practical knowledge of human nature. Knowledge of human nature that works individually with each child. To achieve this, one must, above all, possess a general understanding of human nature.

[ 26 ] Today I would like to point out just a few guidelines that came to me more than 30 years ago and that have become the foundation for the Waldorf teachers’ own studies. The point is that, precisely at the age when we welcome children into elementary school, we have the children’s spiritual life right before us. In the coming days, I will also have to speak about the education of very young children. But as much as it pains me that we do not yet have a preschool that precedes the Waldorf school—that we have to accept children at ages 6 or 7—we simply cannot do so because we lack the funds. But the ideal, of course, is to bring children into the educational process as early as possible.

[ 27 ] When we welcome the children into elementary school, we have them before us as souls; that is to say, the most essential part of their physical upbringing has either been accomplished or not by the time they lose their baby teeth, depending on whether the parents and educators have understood this. So we can say: the most essential part of physical upbringing—which will, of course, continue later on—we will see this as I describe the individual phases of upbringing—but the most essential part, the foundation, is laid by the time the child’s baby teeth fall out. Then we are dealing with the child as a soul, and we must guide the child’s soul development in such a way that physical development is strengthened and invigorated by it.

[ 28 ] And when the child passes through puberty, it enters the age when one can no longer call it a “child”—the age when young men and young women are now free to exercise their minds. Thus, human beings progress from the physical through the psychological into the spiritual.

[ 29 ] But the spiritual, as we shall see, cannot really be taught. It must be set free into the world. A person can only learn the spiritual from life. With the elementary school child, we are dealing with the child’s soul. But the soul—the soul’s content—expresses itself, I would say, in broad strokes through thinking, feeling, and willing. And if one understands from the very foundation how thinking, feeling, and willing are present within the whole human being as soul life, this forms the basis for the entire education of the human being.

[ 30 ] Certainly, the multiplication tables are not yet mathematics, but one must first know the multiplication tables; only then can one progress to differential and integral calculus. In education, it is different—I am not saying that what I am about to discuss characterizes an immensely advanced science, but rather that it characterizes the foundation. Advanced science cannot be built in the same way that differential and integral calculus is built from elementary mathematics; rather, it must be built from the practical application of what the teacher or educator does in school with these simple, elementary guidelines.

[ 31 ] When people speak of the human soul today, in this materialistic age—assuming they acknowledge the existence of a soul at all (after all, there has even been talk of a “psychology,” a study of the soul without a soul)—but assuming they still acknowledge the existence of a soul, they say: Well, the soul is simply something one experiences inwardly and emotionally, and it is connected—I don’t want to get into philosophical details here—in some way to the entire human body. Indeed, if one looks around at our so excellently developed psychology, one finds that, above all, the life of the soul—thinking, feeling, and willing—is today related to the human nervous system to the greatest extent. Nervous activity is what physically manifests the life of the soul, what, as a physical phenomenon, is connected to the life of the soul.

[ 32 ] That is precisely what struck me as incorrect 35 years ago—incorrect insofar as, in the spiritual life of the adult human being—and I emphasize this explicitly, for I cannot consider the child without first understanding the adult human being—in the spiritual life of the adult human being, only thinking and mental images are directly connected to the nervous system. Nervous activity is concerned only with mental images.

[ 33 ] Feeling is not directly related to the nervous system, but rather to what might be called the human rhythmic system—rhythm, the rhythm of breathing, and the rhythm of blood circulation—in their marvelous interplay. Of course, the numbers are only approximate; they vary from person to person, but generally speaking, an adult has four times as many heartbeats as breaths. This inner interrelation between the respiratory rhythm and the pulse rhythm—and this, in turn, its connection to the broader rhythmic life of the human being—constitutes the rhythmic aspect of the human being, the second nature as opposed to that of the head, the nervous nature. The rhythmic system also extends beyond the rhythm we experience when we sleep and wake. This, too, is a rhythm of life that we very often turn into a lack of rhythm in modern life, but it is still a rhythm. And many such rhythms still exist in human life. Human life is not built solely upon what constitutes nervous life; it is also built upon this rhythmic life. And just as the faculty of thought, the power of thought, is directly connected to nervous life, so too is feeling directly connected to this rhythmic system.

[ 34 ] It is not the case that feeling is directly expressed through nervous activity; rather, feeling is directly expressed through the rhythmic system. And when we begin to imagine our own rhythmic system—when we imagine our feelings—we perceive our feelings as mental images through the nerves, just as we perceive light and colors externally. Feeling is therefore indirectly connected to nervous activity. It is directly connected to rhythmic life, and one simply cannot understand a person unless one knows how that person breathes, how breathing relates to blood circulation, and how this entire rhythm expresses itself in a person—whether as a child they blush easily or turn pale—all of which is connected to the rhythmic life, which in turn finds expression in a child’s passions, sensations, and feelings of love. If one does not know what lives directly within the rhythmic life—and what is merely projected upward into the nervous life and thus becomes a mental image—then one does not understand human beings. One does not understand human beings when one says: “Soul life is connected to nervous life”; for within soul life, only the life of thought is connected to the nervous life.

[ 35 ] What I am saying here, I say based on direct intuition, as it presents itself to spiritual perception. For this spiritual insight, there is no evidence in the same sense as there is for purely intellectual thinking. But anyone who accepts this insight with an open mind can also verify it using common sense—and, above all, by referring to what external science says about these matters.

[ 36 ] I might well add to what I have already said: a large part of the work that fell to me during the 35 years in which I had to verify the original conception of this structure of human nature, as I am now presenting it—a large part of that time was spent examining all fields of physiology, the natural sciences in general, and biology, to see whether these things could also be verified externally through the natural sciences. I would not be presenting this today if I did not have this basis. And it can certainly be pointed out that much of what I say can already be substantiated scientifically using current findings.

[ 37 ] Third, in contrast to the life of thought and the life of feeling, we have the life of the will. And this life of the will, in turn, is not directly connected to the nervous system; rather, it is directly connected to human metabolism and human movements. Metabolism is very intimately linked to movement. Consider what happens to the metabolism of a person who does not move properly in relation to their musculoskeletal system. I cite the musculoskeletal system and the metabolic system as the third link in the human organism. The life of the will is directly connected to this.

[ 38 ] Every manifestation of the will in human beings is accompanied by a specific form of metabolic processes. The will is much more directly linked to metabolism than, for example, thinking. Of course, a person must have a healthy metabolism if they are to think clearly. But thinking is directly linked to an entirely different activity in the nervous system than metabolic activity, whereas a person’s will is directly linked to metabolism. And this connection to metabolism is, in turn, what one must understand. When we form mental images of our own will, when we think about the will, metabolic activity is projected into the nervous system. The will acts in the nervous system only indirectly. What develops in the nervous system in relation to the will is essential for perceiving our own volitional activity.

[ 39 ] And so, when we truly understand human beings, we come to understand the relationships between the soul and the physical body. Thought activity in the soul manifests in the physical body as nervous activity; the feeling life in the soul manifests in the physical body in the rhythm of the respiratory and circulatory systems—directly, not indirectly via the nervous system. Volitional activity manifests in the physical human nature as a subtle metabolic process. It is essential to understand the subtle metabolic processes that are always taking place as a kind of combustion process within the human being when volitional activity develops.

[ 40 ] Once one has these concepts—which I have been able to hint at only in a few general principles so far—they will become clear in every detail through their application, which will become apparent to us in the coming days—once one has these elementary principles, one’s eyes are opened to everything that one also encounters in the nature of a child. For in a child’s nature, things are not yet like that. For example, the child is entirely sensory organ—in fact, entirely head—as I have already explained.

[ 41 ] In particular, it is interesting from the perspective of spiritual insight to observe how a child’s sense of taste differs from that of an adult. The adult, having already incorporated the act of tasting into their mental image, tastes with their tongue and then forms a judgment about what the taste is like. The child—especially in the very first weeks of life—tastes with its entire body. The sense of taste permeates the entire organism. The child tastes with the stomach; it continues to taste even as the digestive juices are absorbed by the lymphatic vessels and distributed throughout the entire organism. The child is completely permeated by the experience of taste when it is at its mother’s breast. This is what points to how—I would say—the child is illuminated and radiant with the experience of taste, with a spiritual quality that we no longer possess throughout our entire body later in life, but only in our head.

[ 42 ] And so we learn to observe the small child, and we also learn to observe the older child, when we know that one child blushes more easily at this or that, another turns pale at this or that, one child is easily swept up in a certain emotion and moves its limbs easily; one walks with a strong stride, another almost always tiptoes, and so on. Once we have these basic guidelines—so that we can know where something is located, whether in the metabolic system, where it finds its psychological expression in the will; whether in the rhythmic system, where it finds its psychological expression in feeling; or in the nervous system, where it finds its psychological expression in thinking—then we learn to observe the child, and only then do we know where to direct our gaze.

[ 43 ] You all know that there are people who examine certain things under a microscope. They see wonderful things under the microscope; but there are also other people who do not yet know how to look through a microscope; they look into it, and even when they focus it, they see nothing at all. One must first learn to see by learning to handle the instrument through which one sees. Then, once one has learned to see through the microscope, one also sees what corresponds to it. One sees nothing in a person unless one has learned to properly adjust the spiritual and soul eyes to that which corresponds to thinking, to that which corresponds to feeling, and to that which corresponds to willing. Orientation of the eyes—that is what should be fostered in this way among the teaching staff of the Waldorf school. For only when teachers understand how children function can they develop the right attitude, and only from that right attitude can what constitutes true teaching emerge. — I had to preface this with the threefold nature of the human being so that we can better understand one another regarding the specific practical educational measures and methods.