The Rudolf Steiner Archive

Seventh Lecture

My dear friends!

[ 1 ] I would now like to add a few more thoughts—in the time we have left—on animal husbandry, fruit growing, and vegetable cultivation, building on the observations we have made.

[ 2 ] Of course, we won’t have all that much time for this, but this area of agricultural activity cannot be considered a fruitful starting point unless we once again do everything we can to foster an understanding and insight into the relevant circumstances. That is what we will do today, and tomorrow we will move on to some practical tips for application.

[ 3 ] Today I would like to ask you to try to follow along with me as we explore topics that are, shall we say, somewhat more obscure—because, even though they were once quite familiar to a more instinctive agricultural understanding, they now seem almost like completely uncharted territory. The entities found in nature—minerals, plants, animals (let’s leave humans aside for now)—these beings of nature are very, very often regarded as if they stood alone. Today we are accustomed to looking at a plant in isolation, and then, starting from that, to consider one plant species in isolation, and another plant species beside it, again in isolation. We neatly categorize them into boxes, divided into species and genera, into what is then supposed to be known about these things. But that is not how it is in nature. In nature, in the very fabric of the universe, everything interacts with one another. One thing always affects another. Today, in this materialistic age, we observe only the crude effects of one thing on another—such as when one thing is eaten and digested by another, or when animal manure is spread on the fields. We observe only these crude interactions.

[ 4 ] In addition to these coarse forces, there are also constant interactions brought about by finer forces and finer substances—through heat, through chemical-etheric forces continuously at work in the atmosphere, and through life-ether. And without taking these finer interactions into account, we cannot make progress in certain aspects of agricultural operations. We must pay particular attention to these—I would say—more intimate interactions with nature when we are dealing with the coexistence of animals and plants within the farm. And we must look not only at those animals that are undoubtedly close to us, such as cattle, horses, sheep, and so on, but we must also observe, in an informed way, for example, the colorful world of insects that flit about the plant world during a certain time of the year. Indeed, we must even learn to observe the bird world with discernment. Humanity today does not yet fully grasp the impact that the displacement of certain bird species from specific regions—due to modern living conditions—actually has on all agricultural and forestry life. These matters, in turn, must be illuminated through a spiritual-scientific—or, one might just as well say, a macrocosmic—perspective. Now we can use some of what we have allowed to influence us to gain further insights.

[ 5 ] When you look at a fruit tree—a pear tree, an apple tree, or a plum tree—it is actually something quite different; outwardly, every tree is, in fact, quite different from a herbaceous plant or a cereal plant. And one must arrive at a proper understanding of exactly how the tree is different; otherwise, one will never understand the role of fruit in the workings of nature. Of course, I am speaking first and foremost of the fruit that grows on trees.

[ 6 ] Now let’s take a look at the tree. What, exactly, is its place in the whole of nature? For if we examine it carefully, we can initially count as truly “plant-like” in the tree only that which grows outward in thin stems, in the green leaf-bearing branches, in flowers, and in fruits. This grows out of the tree, just as the herbaceous plant grows out of the earth.

[ 7 ] The tree is, in fact, nothing more than the earth itself, as manifested in what grows on its branches. It is the earth transformed into a hill—only a slightly more vibrant form of the earth than the one from which our herbs and grain plants grow.

[ 8 ] So if we want to understand the tree, we have to say, well, there’s the tree’s thick trunk, and in a certain sense, the branches and twigs are also part of it. From there, the actual plant grows out—leaves and flowers grow from it. This is the plant that is rooted in the trunk and branches of the tree, just as herbaceous plants and grains are rooted in the earth. This immediately raises the question: Is this plant—which, in a sense, could be called a parasite on the tree—actually rooted as well?

[ 9 ] We cannot see any real roots on the tree. And if we want to understand this correctly, we must say: Yes, this plant that’s growing there—which is developing its flowers and leaves up there, as well as its stems—has lost its roots by growing on the tree. But a plant isn’t complete if it has no roots. It needs a root. So we must ask ourselves: Where, then, is the root of this plant?

[ 10 ] Now you see, the root is simply not visible to the casual observer. In this case, it’s not enough just to look at the root—you have to understand it. You have to understand it—what does that mean? Just imagine—let’s use a real-life comparison to illustrate this—I planted a whole bunch of herbaceous plants very close together in the ground, so that their roots grew together, with one root twining around another, and the whole thing became a sort of intertwined mass of roots. You can imagine that this root mass would not allow for any irregularities; it would organize itself into a single entity, and the sap would flow into one another down there. There would be an organized root mass where one cannot distinguish where the roots end or begin. A shared root entity within the plant would emerge.

[ 11 ] Something like this—which, at first glance, doesn’t even need to exist, but which can help us understand—would be the following: There is the soil. If I now plant all my plants—like this!—and down there, the roots all grow intertwined. Now a completely extensive root layer forms. You can’t tell where one ends and another begins. Well, what I have sketched out here hypothetically actually exists in the tree. The plant growing on the tree has lost its root; it has even separated from it to some extent and is connected to it—I would say—in a more ethereal way. And what I have depicted here hypothetically is the cambium layer inside the tree, the cambium, so that we cannot view the roots of this plant in any other way than as having been replaced by the cambium.

[ 12 ] The cambium does not look like roots. It is the growth layer that constantly produces new cells, from which growth continually unfolds, just as herbaceous plant life would unfold from a root below. We can then truly see how, in the tree with its cambium layer—which is the actual generative layer and which can produce plant cells (since the other layers of the tree would not be able to produce fresh cells)—the earthly has indeed turned itself inside out, has grown outward into the airy [and] thereby requires more internalization of life than the earth otherwise possesses, since it still contains the ordinary root within itself. And we begin to understand the tree. At first, we understand the tree as a remarkable being, as the very being that exists to separate the “plants” growing on it—stems, flowers, fruit, and their roots—to remove them from one another and to connect them only through the spirit, or rather through the ethereal.

[ 13 ] In this way, it is necessary to look at growth from a macrocosmic perspective. But it goes much further than that. What happens when a tree comes into being? What happens is this: That which grows up there on the tree—in the air and in the external warmth—is a different kind of plant-like entity than that which grows directly on the ground in air and warmth and then develops into the herbaceous plant that grows out of the ground.

[ 14 ] It is a different plant world—one that has much deeper connections to the surrounding astral realm, which is secreted into the air and heat so that air and heat can take on a mineral quality, as humans and animals then require. And so it is that when we look at a plant growing on the ground, it is, as I have said, surrounded and enveloped by astral matter. Here, however, in the tree, this astral matter is much denser. It is so dense there that our trees are accumulations of astral substance. Our trees are clearly accumulators of astral substance.

[ 15 ] In this area, it is actually easiest—I would say—to achieve a higher level of development. If one strives in these areas, one can very easily become esoteric in them. One cannot become clairvoyant in the strict sense, but one can very easily become clair-olfactory—that is, by developing a certain sense of smell for the various aromas emanating from plants on Earth, from fruit orchards (even when they are just beginning to bloom), and even from the forest. Then one will be able to perceive the difference between a plant atmosphere that is poorer in astral energy—as can be smelled in the herbaceous plants growing on the ground—and a plant world rich in astral energy, as one can experience in one’s nose when one inhales the fragrance that can be smelled so beautifully from the treetops. And if you accustom yourself in this way to specifying, distinguishing, and individualizing the scent—between the scent of terrestrial plants and the scent of trees—then in the former case you will have clairoscentia for a finer astral quality, and in the latter case, clairoscentia for a denser astral quality. — You see, the farmer can easily develop a keen sense of smell. He has not made use of this ability in recent times as he did in the old, instinctive era of clairvoyance. The farmer can develop a keen sense of smell, as I said.

[ 16 ] If we now consider where this might lead, we must ask ourselves: Well, what about that which, in a sense, stands in polar opposition to what the parasitic plant growing on the tree brings about as an astral force in the tree’s surroundings? What happens through the cambium—what does it do?

[ 17 ] You see, the tree imbues the spiritual atmosphere around it with greater astral richness. What happens, then, when the herbaceous part grows at the top of the tree? [Then it possesses a certain inner vitality, etheric quality, and a strong life force within it.] The cambium now dampens this life somewhat more, so that it becomes more mineral-like. Thus, the cambium has the following effect: While astral elements form around the tree at the top, the cambium acts in such a way that the interior contains less ether than usual; a deficiency of ether relative to the plant arises within the tree. A state poorer in etheric substance arises here. However, because the cambium causes a state poorer in etheric substance to develop within the tree, this in turn affects the root. The root of the tree becomes mineral, much more mineral than the roots of herbaceous plants.

[ 18 ] However, as it becomes more mineralized, it now deprives the soil—through what remains within the living organism—of some of its etheric quality. It makes the soil around the tree somewhat more lifeless than it would be around a herbaceous plant. We must keep this firmly in mind: Whatever arises in nature in this way will always have a significant, inner natural meaning within the balance of nature. Therefore, we must seek out this inner natural meaning in the abundance of the astral realm around the tree and the scarcity of the etheric realm in the area of the tree’s roots.

[ 19 ] And when we look around, we see how this continues in the order of nature. The fully developed insect lives and weaves from that which passes through the trees as the astral realm. And that which becomes poorer in ether down below in the soil—and which, as a lack of ether, naturally extends throughout the entire tree, just as the spiritual always acts upon the whole, as I explained yesterday in relation to karma in human beings—that which acts down below acts upon the larvae; so that if the earth had no trees, there would be no insects at all on earth. For the trees provide the insects with the possibility of existence. The insects fluttering around the above-ground parts of the trees—that is, the insects fluttering all around the forest—live because the forest is there, and their larvae also live because the forest is there

[ 20 ] You see, here we have yet another indication of a deeper connection between all root beings and the subterranean animal world. For, I would say, it is from the tree that we can particularly learn what we have just explained. That is where it becomes clear. But the significant point is that what becomes strikingly clear in the tree is, in turn, present in a nuanced way throughout the entire plant world, so that within every plant there lives something that seeks to become tree-like. In every plant, the root, in interaction with its surroundings, actually strives to release the ether, and in every plant, that which grows upward strives to draw the astral realm closer. The desire to become a tree is actually inherent in every plant. Therefore, this kinship with the insect world—which I have particularly characterized in the case of the tree—becomes evident in every plant. But this kinship with the insect world also extends to a kinship with the entire animal kingdom. Insect larvae—which, in fact, can initially survive on Earth only because tree roots are present—developed into other animal species similar to them, which spend their entire animal lives more or less in a kind of larval state and which then, in a sense, emancipate themselves from their attachment to tree roots, in order to live according to the different root-like nature of herbaceous plants and coexist with them.

[ 21 ] Now it turns out that, strangely enough, we can see how subterranean animals—albeit very far removed from the larval stage—have the ability to regulate the ethereal vitality in the soil when it becomes too strong. If the soil were to become, so to speak, too vibrant and the vitality within it were to run rampant, then these subterranean animals ensure that the excess vitality is released from the soil. In this way, they become marvelous valves and regulators for the vitality present in the earth. These golden creatures, which are thus of particular importance to the soil, are earthworms. Earthworms—one should really study them in their interaction with the soil. For they are these wonderful creatures that allow the earth to retain just as much ethericity as it needs for plant growth.

[ 22 ] Thus, underground, we have these earthworms—which now bear only a passing resemblance to their larval forms—and similar creatures. And in fact, for certain types of soil—which can be identified by their appearance—one should even ensure a favorable environment for earthworm populations within them. Then one would see how beneficial such management of this subterranean fauna is for the vegetation and, consequently—as we will point out later—for the animal world as well.

[ 23 ] Now, there is, in turn, a distant resemblance between animals and the insect world, once that insect world has developed and takes to the air. That is the world of birds. But as is well known, something marvelous took place between insects and birds in the course of Earth’s evolution. One would like to describe how this happened as vividly as possible. For one day the insects said: We do not feel strong enough to properly work with the astral energy that sprays around the trees. We therefore make use of the other plants’ desire to be like trees and flutter around them, and we leave to you birds, for the most part, that part of the astral energy which [flutter around]. And so a true division of labor has arisen in nature between the bird realm and the butterfly realm, and together they work in a truly wondrous way, ensuring that these flying creatures spread the astral energy in the proper manner wherever it is needed on the Earth’s surface or in the air. If one were to remove these flying creatures, astral energy would essentially fail to perform its proper function, and this would manifest as a certain kind of stunted growth in the vegetation. These two belong together: flying creatures and that which grows from the earth into the air. Ultimately, one is inconceivable without the other. Therefore, agriculture must also pay attention to allowing insects and birds to flit about in the proper way. The farmer himself must also understand something about insect and bird husbandry at the same time. For in nature—I must emphasize this again and again—everything, absolutely everything, is interconnected.

[ 24 ] These things are particularly important for understanding the matter, so let us hold them very clearly before our minds. We can say: The world of flying insects brings about the proper astralization of the air. This astralization of the air stands in a reciprocal relationship to the forest, which directs astral energy in the proper way, just as blood is directed in the proper way through certain forces within our body. What the forest does in its vast surroundings—these influences extend over very wide areas—must be accomplished by entirely different processes in regions devoid of forests. And one should understand that, in fact, plant growth in areas where forests, fields, and meadows alternate is governed by entirely different laws than in regions largely devoid of forests.

[ 25 ] There are, after all, certain regions of the earth where one can see right away that they were made forested even before humans had a hand in it—for in certain respects, nature is still wiser than humans— and one can safely assume that if a forest exists naturally in a certain region, it serves a purpose for the surrounding agriculture and the surrounding herbaceous and shrubby vegetation. One should therefore have the wisdom not to destroy the forest in such areas, but rather to care for it properly. And since the earth also gradually changes due to all sorts of climatic and cosmic influences, one should have the willingness—when one observes that the vegetation is becoming stunted—not merely to conduct all sorts of experiments in the fields and for the fields, but to slightly increase the forested areas nearby. And if one notices that the plants are running rampant and lack sufficient seed-bearing capacity, then one should indeed take steps to set aside or remove certain areas within the forest. The management of the forest in areas already designated for afforestation is simply part of agriculture and must, in essence, be considered from a spiritual perspective in all its implications.

[ 26 ] Then we can say again that the world of worms and larvae also interacts with the earth’s lime—that is, with the mineral realm—while the world of insects and birds, everything that flutters and flies, interacts with the astral realm. That which is beneath the earth—the world of worms and larvae—is in a reciprocal relationship with the mineral realm, and specifically with the calcareous essence; and through this, the ethereal is derived in the proper way, as I told you from a different perspective a few days ago. It is up to the lime to fulfill this task, but it carries it out in interaction with the world of larvae and worms.

[ 27 ] You see, if one were to delve deeper into what I have just mentioned, one would come across other things that—though I would not dare to claim this with such certainty—were intuitively applied quite correctly during the era of instinctive clairvoyance. But in doing so, we have lost our instincts. The intellect has simply lost all instincts; the intellect has simply eradicated all instincts. It is the fault of materialism that people have become so clever, so intellectual. In the time when they were less intellectual, they were not so clever, but much wiser, and they knew, out of feeling, how to handle things in the way we must once again consciously handle them, now that we are guided by something that, again, is not clever —anthroposophy is not clever; it strives more for wisdom—if we are thus able to approach wisdom in all things, not merely through the abstract drivel of words like “The human being consists of a physical body, an etheric body, and so on,” which one can memorize and recite like a cookbook. But that is not the point; rather, the point is to truly integrate the knowledge of these things into everything, to see them present in everything, and then one is guided—especially if, in the way I have explained to you, one truly becomes clairvoyant—to actually discern in nature how things really are.

[ 28 ] And then one discovers that the bird life becomes harmful when it does not have the coniferous forest at its side, so that what it produces can be transformed into something useful. And now, once again, one’s perception is further sharpened, and one discerns another kind of kinship. Once one has recognized this remarkable kinship between birds and coniferous forests, one then discerns another kinship that becomes clearly apparent—one that is initially a subtle kinship, as subtle as the one I mentioned, but which can even manifest itself in a coarser form. Namely, to everything that does not become a tree but does not remain a small plant either—to the shrubs, such as hazelnut bushes—mammals have an inner affinity, and one would therefore do well to plant shrub-like growths in the countryside as part of agricultural practices to enhance the well-being of mammals. Simply by being there, these shrub-like plants exert a beneficial influence. For in nature, everything interacts with one another.

[ 29 ] But let’s move on. Animals aren’t as foolish as humans; they realize very quickly that this kinship exists. And when they realize that they love the shrubs—that this love is innate in them—then they also come to enjoy eating these shrubs, and they begin to consume just what they need from them, which has an immensely regulating effect on their other food. But if one observes this intimate kinship in nature in this way, one can, from there, gain new insights into the nature of what is harmful. Just as the coniferous forest has an intimate relationship with birds, and the shrubs have an intimate relationship with mammals, so too does everything fungal have an intimate relationship with the lower animal kingdom—with bacteria and similar organisms—namely, with harmful parasites. And these harmful parasites thrive alongside fungi; after all, they develop wherever fungi are present in scattered patches. This gives rise to plant diseases and, in some cases, more severe damage to plants. But if we manage not only to have forests but also floodplains in close proximity to agricultural land, these floodplains will become particularly beneficial to agriculture because they provide a good habitat for fungi. And care should be taken to ensure that the soil in these floodplains is rich in fungi. And there one will observe the remarkable phenomenon that where a floodplain—a fungus-rich floodplain, even if perhaps not very large—is located near agricultural land, these fungi, through their kinship with bacteria and other parasitic organisms, will keep these organisms away from the crops. For fungi interact more closely with these organisms than other plants do. In addition to the methods I’ve mentioned for combating such plant pests, there is also the possibility—on a large scale—of keeping harmful small creatures and pests away from agricultural land by creating floodplains.

[ 30 ] The proper distribution of forests, orchards, shrublands, and floodplains—along with a certain natural fungal ecosystem—is so central to the essence of sustainable agriculture that one can actually achieve more for agriculture even if it means slightly reducing the amount of arable land. In any case, one is not practicing sound economic management if one exploits the land to such an extent that everything I have mentioned disappears, while speculating that one can thereby grow more. What one can grow in greater quantities in this way will, in fact, be of a lower quality than what one could achieve by expanding the area at the expense of other elements. In fact, in an enterprise as inherently natural as agriculture, one cannot really be involved in it without having this kind of insight into the interrelationships of natural processes and their interactions.

[ 31 ] Now is also the time to bring to our attention those perspectives that make us truly contemplate the relationship between the plant kingdom and the animal kingdom—and vice versa, between the animal kingdom and the plant kingdom. What, after all, is an animal, and what, after all, is the plant kingdom?

[ 32 ] When it comes to the plant world, one must speak more broadly of the entire plant world. What, exactly, is an animal, and what is the plant world? The fact that this must be understood as a relationship is evident from the fact that one can only understand something about feeding animals if one understands something about this relationship. For feeding can only be carried out correctly if it is maintained in accordance with the proper relationship between plant and animal. What are animals?

[ 33 ] Yes, you look at the animals that way—you probably dissect them, too—and then you have the skeletal structures, whose forms you can certainly appreciate and study, as I’ve pointed out. One also studies the muscular and nervous systems, but that doesn’t reveal what the animals actually are within the entire fabric of nature. You can only understand that by looking at what the animal is in direct, intimate interaction with in relation to its environment. You see, the animal directly processes—through its nervous-sensory system and part of its respiratory system—everything that first passes through air and heat from its environment. The animal is, in essence—insofar as it is a distinct being—a direct processor of air and heat through its nervous-sensory system [and through its respiratory system].

[ 34 ] So we draw the animal schematically in this way. In everything that lies within its periphery and surroundings, in its nervous and sensory system, and in part of its respiratory system, the animal is a distinct being that lives directly in air and warmth. The animal has a very direct relationship to air and warmth, and its skeletal system is actually formed from warmth, in that the effects of the Moon and Sun are mediated specifically through warmth. Its muscular system is formed from the air, in which, in turn, the forces of the Sun and Moon act indirectly through the air.

[ 35 ] The animal, however, cannot relate to earth and water in a direct way—that is, through direct processing. The animal cannot process earth and water in such a direct way. It must take earth and water into its interior; it must therefore have a digestive tract that runs from the outside to the inside, and it then processes everything within itself using what it has become through warmth and air—processing earth and water with its metabolic system and a part of its respiratory system. The respiratory system then merges into the metabolic system. Using part of its respiratory system and part of its metabolic system, it processes earth and water. Thus, the animal must already exist through air and warmth if it is to process earth and water. $o the animal lives in the realm of earth and in the realm of water. Of course, as I have indicated, this processing occurs more in a sense of force than in a sense of substance. Let us ask, in contrast: what, then, is a plant?

[ 36 ] You see, the plant now has just as direct a connection to earth and water as the animal does to air and warmth; so that in the case of the plant, it also takes in directly—through a kind of respiration and through something remotely similar to the sensory system—all that which is earth and water—just as the animal directly takes in air and warmth. The plant thus lives directly with earth and water.

[ 37 ] Now you might say: Well, now that we have realized that plants live directly from soil and water, just as animals live from air and heat, plants must now process air and heat internally in the same way that animals process soil and water.

[ 38 ] But that is not the case. One cannot draw conclusions by analogy from what one already knows if one wishes to arrive at spiritual truths; rather, while the animal takes in earthly and watery substances and processes them within itself, the plant actually excretes air and heat by experiencing them together with the soil. Thus, air and heat do not enter the plant—or at least do not penetrate very deeply—but rather air and heat emerge and, instead of being consumed by the plant, are excreted.

[ 39 ] And this excretory process is precisely what is at issue. In terms of its organic nature, the plant is in every respect the opposite of the animal—a true opposite. Just as the intake of food is of primary importance for the animal, so too is the excretion of air and heat for the plant; and just as the animal lives by taking in food, so the plant lives by excreting air and heat. This is what one might call the “virginal” aspect of the plant: that it does not greedily seek to take anything in through its own being, but rather actually gives what the animal takes from the world, and thereby lives. Thus, the plant gives and lives by giving.

[ 40 ] When you consider this give-and-take, you have once again recognized something that played a major role in an ancient, instinctive understanding of these matters. The statement I am drawing here from an anthroposophical perspective is: “The plant gives, the animal takes in the order of nature”—was once commonplace in an instinctive, clairvoyant insight into nature as a whole. And some of this has persisted into later times among people who are particularly sensitive to this matter, and you will find, for instance, that Goethe frequently used this phrase: “In nature, everything lives through giving and taking.” You will certainly find it if you go through Goethe’s works. He no longer understood it properly, but he took it up again from old customs and traditions and had a sense that this phrase expressed something true about nature. Those who came after him understood nothing of it at all, nor do they understand what Goethe meant when he spoke of giving and taking. He also speaks of breathing—insofar as breathing interacts with metabolism—in terms of giving and taking. He used this term in a way that was both clear and unclear. Well, you can see that, in a certain sense, the forests and orchards—the shrubbery above the ground—act as regulators to shape plant growth in the proper way. And again, beneath the ground, a similar regulator is found in the form of the lower larvae, worm-like creatures, and so on, in conjunction with lime. This is how one should view the relationship between crop farming, fruit growing, and livestock raising—and then put this into practice. We will try to do this in the last hour we have left, to the extent that the findings from the wonderful experimental ring can truly be further developed.