In the remainder of the time at our disposal, I wish to
say something about farm animals, orchards and vegetable
gardening. We have not much time left; but in these
branches of farming, too, we can have no fruitful
starting-point unless we first bring about an insight
into the underlying facts and conditions. We shall
do this to-day, and pass on to-morrow to the more
practical hints and applications.
To-day I must ask you to follow me in matters which lie
yet a little farther afield from present-day points of
view. Time was, indeed, when they were thoroughly
familiar to the more instinctive insight of the farmer;
to-day they are to all intents and purposes terra
incognita. The entities occurring in Nature (minerals,
plants, animals — we will leave man out for the
moment) are frequently studied as though they stood there
all alone.
Nowadays, one generally considers a single plant by
itself. Then, from the single plant, one proceeds to
consider a plant-species by itself; and other
plant-species beside it. So it is all prettily
pigeonholed into species and genera, and all the rest
that we are then supposed to know. Yet in Nature it is
not so at all. In Nature — and, indeed, throughout
the Universal being — all things are in mutual
interaction; the one is always working on the other.
In our materialistic age, scientists only follow up the
coarser effects of one upon the other—as for
instance when one creature is eaten or digested by
another, or when the dung of the animals comes on to the
fields. Only these coarse interactions are traced. But in
addition to these coarse interactions, finer ones, too,
are constantly taking place — effects transmitted
by finer forces and finer substances too—by warmth,
by the chemical-ether principle that is for ever working
in the atmosphere, and by the life-ether.
We must take these finer interactions into account.
Otherwise we shall make no progress in certain domains of
our farm-work. Notably we must observe these more
intimate relationships of Nature when we are dealing with
the life, together on the farm, of plant and animal. Here
again, we must not only consider those animals which are
undoubtedly very near to us—like cattle, horses,
sheep and so on. We must also observe with intelligence,
let us say, the many coloured world of insects, hovering
around the plant-world during a certain reason of the
year. Moreover, we must learn to look with understanding
at the birds.
Modern humanity has no idea how greatly farming
and forestry are affected by the, owing to the
modern conditions of life, of certain kinds of birds from
certain districts. Light must be thrown upon these things
once more by that macrocosmic method which Spiritual
Science is pursuing — for we may truly call it
macrocosmic. Here we can apply some of the ideal we have
already let work upon us; we shall thus gain further
insight.
Look at a fruit-tree — a pear-tree,
apple-tree or plum-tree. Outwardly Seen, to begin with,
it is quite different from a herbaceous plant or cereal.
Indeed, this would apply to any tree — it is quite
different. But we must learn to perceive in what way the
tree is different; otherwise we shall never understand
the function of fruit in Nature's household (I am
speaking now of such fruit as grows on trees).
Let us consider the free. What is it in the household of
Nature? If we look at it with understanding, we must
include in the plant-nature of the tree any more than
grows out of it in the thin stalks — in the green
leaf-bearing stalks — and in the flowers and fruit.
All this grows out of the free, as the herbaceous plant
grows out of the earth. The free is really “earth”
for that which grows upon its boughs and branches. It is
the earth, grown up like a hillock; shaped — it is
rate—in a rather more living way than the earth out
of which our herbaceous plants and cereals spring forth.
To understand the free, we must say: There is the thick
tree trunk (and in a sense the boughs and branches still
belong to this). Out of all this the real plant grows
forth. Leaves, flowers and fruit grow out of this; they
are the real plant—rooted in the trunk and branches
of the tree, as the herbaceous plants and cereals are
rooted in the Earth.
Here the question will at once arise: Is this “plant”
which grows on the tree — and which is therefore
describable as a parasitic growth, more or less —
is it actually rooted? An actual root is not to be found
in the tree. To understand the matter rightly, we must
say: This plant which grows on the tree — unfolding
up there its flowers and leaves and Stems — has
lost its roots. But a plant is not whole if it has no
roots. It must have a root. Therefore we must ask
ourselves: Where is the root of this plant?
The point is simply that the root is invisible to crude
external observation. In this case we must not merely
want to see a root we must understand what a root is. A
true comparison will help us forward here. Suppose I were
to plant in the soil a whole number of herbaceous plants,
very near together, so that their roots intertwined, and
merged with one another — the one root winding
round the other, until it all become a regular mush of
roots, merging one into another. As you can well imagine,
such a complex of roots would not allow itself to remain
a mere tangle; it would grow organised into a single
entity. Down there in the soil the saps and fluids would
flow into one another. There would be an organised
root-complex — roots flowing into one another. We
could not distinguish where the several roots began or
ended. A common root-being would arise for these plants.
So it would be. No such thing need exist in reality, but
this illustration will enable us to understand. Here is
the soil of the earth: here I insert all my plants. Down
there, all the roots coalesce, until they form a regular
surface — a continuous root-stratum. Once more, you
would not know where the one root begins and the other
ends.
Now the very thing I have here sketched as an hypothesis
is actually present in the tree. The plant which grows on
the free has lost its root. Relatively speaking, it is
even separated from its root — only it is united
with it, as it were, in a more ethereal way. What I have
hypothetically sketched on the board is actually there in
the tree, as the cambium layer — the cambium.
That is how we must regard the roots of these plants that
grow out of the free: they are replaced by the cambium.
Although the cambium does not look like roots, it is the
living, growing layer, constantly forming new cells, so
that the plant-life of the free grows out of it, just as
the life of a herbaceous plant grows up above out of the
root below.
Here, then, is the free with its cambium layer, the
growing formative layer, which is able to create
plant-cells. (The other layers in the free would not be
able to create fresh cells). Now you can thoroughly see
the point. In the tree with its cambium or formative
layer, the earth-realm itself is actually bulged out; it
has grown outward into the airy regions. And having thus
grown outward into the air, it needs more inwardness,
more intensity of life, than the earth otherwise has,
i.e. than it has where the ordinary root is in it.
Now we begin to understand the free. In the First place,
we understand it as a strange entity whose function is to
separate the plants that grow upon it — stem,
blossom and fruit — from their roots, uniting them
only through the Spirit, that is, through the ethereal.
We must learn to look with macrocosmic intelligence into
the mysteries of growth. But it goes still further. For I
now beg you observe: What happens through the fact that a
free comes into being? It is as follows:
That which encompasses the free has a different
plant-nature in the air and outer warmth than that which
grows in air and warmth immediately on the soil,
unfolding the herbaceous plant that springs out of the
earth directly. Once more, it is a different plant-world. For it
is far more intimately related to the surrounding
astrality. Down here, the astrality in air and
warmth is expelled, so that the air and warmth may become
mineral for the Bake of man and animal. Look at a plant
growing directly out of the soil. True, it is
hovered-around, enshrouded in an astral cloud. Up there,
however, round about the free, the astrality is far
denser. Once more, it is far denser. Our trees are
gatherings of astral substance; quite clearly, they are
gatherers of astral substance.
In this realm it is easiest of all for one to attain to a
certain higher development. If you make the necessary
effort, you can easily become esoteric in these spheres.
I do not say clairvoyant, but you can easily
become clair-sentient with respect to the sense of smell,
especially if you acquire a certain sensitiveness to the
diverse aromas that proceed from plants growing on the
soil, and on the other hand from fruit-tree plantations —
even if only in the blossoming stage — and from the
woods and forests! Then you will feel the difference
between a plant-atmosphere poor in astrality, such as you
can smell among the herbaceous plants growing on the
earth, and a plant-world rich in astrality such as you
have in your nostrils when you sniff what is so
beautifully wafted from the treetops.
Accustom yourself to specialise your sense of smell —
to distinguish, to differentiate, to individualise, as
between the scent of earthly plants and the scent of
trees. Then, in the former case you will become
clair-sentient to a thinner astrality, and in the latter
case to a denser astrality. You see, the farmer can
easily become clair-sentient. Only in recent times he has
male less use of this than in the time of the old
clairvoyance. The countryman, as I said, can become
clair-sentient with regard to the sense of smell.
Let us observe where this will lead us. We must now ask:
What of the polar opposite, the counterpart of that
richer astrality which the plant — parasitically
growing on the tree — brings about in the
neighbourhood of the tree? In other words, what happens
by means of the cambium? What does the cambium itself do?
Far, far around, the free makes the spiritual atmosphere
inherently richer in astrality. What happens, then, when
the herbaceous life grows out of the free up yonder? The
tree has a certain inner vitality or ethericity; it has a
certain intensity of life. Now the cambium damps down
this life a little more, so that it becomes slightly more
mineral. While, up above, a rich astrality arises
all around the tree, the cambium works in such a way
that, there within, the ethericity is poorer.
Within the tree arises poverty of ether as compared to
the plant. Once more, here within, it will be somewhat
poorer in ether. And as, through the cambium, a relative
poverty of ether is engendered in the tree, the
root in its turn will be influenced. The roots of the
tree become mineral — far more so than the roots of
herbaceous plants. And the root, being more mineral,
deprives the earthly soil — observe, we still
remain within the realms of life — of some of its
ethericity. This makes the earthly soil rather
more dead in the environment of the free than it
would be in the environment of a herbaceous plant.
All this you must clearly envisage. Now whatever arises
in this way will always involve something of deep
significance in the household of Nature as a whole. Let
us then enquire: what is the inner significance, for
Nature, of the astral richness in the tree's environment
above, and the etheric poverty in the realm of the
free-roots? We only need Look about us, and we can find
how these things work themselves out in Nature's
household. The fully developed insect, in effect, lives
and moves by virtue of this rich astrality which is
wafted through the tree-tops.
Take, on the other hand, what becomes poorer in ether,
down below in the soil. (This poverty of ether extends,
of course, throughout the tree, for the Spiritual always
works through the whole, as I explained yesterday
when speaking of human Karma). That which is poorer in
ether, down below, works through the larvae. Thus,
if the earth had no trees, there would be no insects on
the earth. The trees make it possible for the insects to
be. The insects fluttering around the parts of the tree
which are above the earth — fluttering around the
woods and forests as a whole — they have their very
life through the existence of the woods. Their larvae,
too, live by the very existence of the woods.
Here you have a further indication of the inner
relationship between the root-nature and the
sub-terrestrial animal world. From the tree we can best
learn what I have now explained; here it becomes most
evident. But the fast is: What becomes very evident in
the tree is present in a more delicate way throughout the
whole plant-world. In every plant there is a certain
tendency to become tree-like. In every plant, the root
with its environment strives to let go the ether; while
that which grows upward tends to draw in the astral more
densely. The free-becoming tendency is there is every
plant.
Hence, too, in every plant the same relationship to the
insect world emerges, which I described for the special
case of the tree. But that is not all. This relation to
the insect-world expands into a relation to the whole
animal kingdom. Take, for example, the insect larvae:
truly, they only live upon the earth by virtue of the
tree-roots being there. However, in times gone by, such
larvae have also evolved into other kinds of animals,
similar to them, but undergoing the whole of their animal
life in a more or less larval condition. These creatures
then emancipate themselves, so to speak, from the
tree-root-nature, and live more near to the rest of the
root-world — that is, they become associated with
the root-nature of herbaceous plants.
A wonderful fast emerges here: Certain of these
sub-terrestrial creatures (which, it is true, are already
somewhat removed from the larval nature) develop the
faculty to regulate the ethereal vitality within the soil
whenever it becomes too great. If the soil is tending to
become too strongly living — if ever its livingness
grows rampant — these subterranean animals see to
it that the over-intense vitality is released. Thus they
become wonderful regulators, safety-valves for the
vitality inside the Earth. These golden creatures —
for they are of the greatest value to the earth —
are none other than the earth-worms.
Study the earth-worm — how it lives together with
the soil. These worms are wonderful creatures: they leave
to the earth precisely as much ethericity as it
needs for plant-growth. There under the earth you have
the earth-worms and similar creatures distantly
reminiscent of the larva. Indeed, in certain soils —
which you can easily tell — we ought to take
special care to allow for the due breeding of
earth-worms. We should soon see how beneficially such a
control of the animal world beneath the earth would react
on the vegetation, and thus in turn upon the animal world
in general, of which we shall speak in a moment.
Now there is again a distant similarity between certain
animals and the fully evolved, i.e. the winged,
insect-world. These animals are the birds. In
course of evolution a wonderful thing has taken place as
between the insects and the birds. I will describe it in
a picture. The insects said, one day: We do not feel
quite strong enough to work the astrality which sparkles
and Sprays around the trees. We therefore, for our part,
will use the treeing tendency of other plants; there we
will flutter about, and to you birds we will leave the
astrality that surrounds the trees. So there came about a
regular division of labour between the bird-world
and the butterfly-world, and now the two together
work most wonderfully.
These winged creatures, each and all, provide for a
proper distribution of astrality, wherever it is
needed on the surface of the Earth or in the air. Remove
these winged creatures, and the astrality would fail of
its true service; and you would soon detect it in a kind
of stunting of the vegetation. For the two things belong
together: the winged animals, and that which grows out of
the Earth into the air. Fundamentally, the one is
unthinkable without the other. Hence the farmer should
also be careful to let the insects and birds flutter
around in the right way. The farmer himself should have
some understanding of the rare of birds and
insects. For in great Nature — again and
again I must say it — everything, everything is
connected.
These things are most important for a true insight:
therefore let us place them before our souls most
clearly. Through the flying world of insects, we may say,
the right astralisation is brought about in the air. Now
this astralisation of the air is always in mutual
relation to the woods or forests, which guide the
astrality in the right way just as the blood in our body
is guided by certain forces. What the wood does—not
only for its immediate vicinity but far and away around
it (for these things work over wide areas) — what
the wood does in this direction has to be done by quite
other things in unwooded districts. This we should learn
to understand. The growth of the soil is subject to quite
other laws in districts where forest, Field and meadow
alternate, than in wide, unwooded stretches of country.
There are districts of the Earth where we can tell at a
glance that they became rich in forests long before man
did anything—for in certain matters Nature is wiser
than man, even to this day. And we may well assume, if
there is forest by Nature in a given district, it has its
good use for the surrounding farmlands — for the
herbaceous and graminaceous vegetation. We should have
sufficient insight, on no account to exterminate the
forest in such districts, but to preserve it well.
Moreover, the Earth by and by changes, through manifold
cosmic and climatic influences.
Therefore we should have the heart — when we see
that the vegetation is becoming stunted, not merely to
make experiments for the fields or on the fields alone,
but to increase the wooded areas a little. Or if we
notice that the plants are growing rampant and have not
enough seeding-force, then we should set to work and make
some clearings in the forest — take certain
surfaces of wooded land away: In districts which are
predestined to be wooded, the regulation of woods
and forests is an essential part of agriculture,
and should indeed be thought of from the spiritual side.
It is of a far-reaching significance.
Moreover, we may say: the world of worms, and larvae too,
is related to the limestone — that is, to
the mineral nature of the earth; while the world of
insects and birds — all that flutters and flies
stands in relation to the astral. That which is there
under the surface of the earth — the world of worms
and larvae — is related to the mineral, especially
the chalky, limestone nature, whereby the ethereal is
duly conducted away, as I told you a few days ago from
another standpoint. This is the task of the limestone —
and it fulfils its task in mutual interaction with the
larva- and insect-world.
Thus you will see, as we begin to specialise what I have
given, ever new things will dawn on us — things
which were undoubtedly recognised with true feeling in
the old time of instinctive clairvoyance. (I should not
trust myself to expound them with equal certainty.) The
old instincts have been lost. Intellect has lost all the
old instincts — nay, has exterminated them. That is
the trouble with materialism — men have become so
intellectual, so clever. When they were less
intellectual, though they were not so clever, they were
far wiser; out of their feeling they knew how to treat
things, even as we must learn to do once more, for in a
conscious way we must learn once more to approach the
Wisdom that prevails in all things. We shall learn it by
something which is not clever at all, namely, by
Spiritual Science. Spiritual Science is not clever: it
strives rather for Wisdom.
Nor can we rest content with the abstract repetition of
words: “Man consists of physical body, etheric
body,” etc., etc., which one can learn off by heart
like any cookery-book. The point is for us to introduce
the knowledge of these things in all domains — to
see it inherent everywhere. Then we are presently guided
to distinguish how things are in Nature, especially if we
become clairvoyant in the way I explained. Then we
discover that the bird world becomes harmful if it
has not the “needle-wood” or coniferous
forests beside it, to transform what it brings about into
good use and benefit. Thereupon our vision is still
further sharpened, and a fresh relationship emerges. When
we have recognised this peculiar relation of the birds to
the coniferous forests, then we perceive another kinship.
It emerges clearly. To begin with, it is a fine and
intimate kinship — fine as are those which I have
mentioned now. But it can readily be changed into a
stronger, more robust relationship.
I mean the inner kinship of the mammals to all
that does not become tree and yet does not remain as a
small plant — in other words, to the shrubs
and bushes — the haze-lnut, for instance. To
improve our stock of mammals in a farm or in a farming
district, we shall often do well to plant in the
landscape bushes or shrub-like growths. By their mere
presence they have a beneficial effect. All things in
Nature are in mutual interaction, once again. But we can
go farther. The animals are not so foolish as men are;
they very quickly “tumble to it” that there
is this kinship. See how they love the shrubs and bushes.
This love is absolutely inborn in them, and so they like
to get at the shrubs to eat them. They soon begin to take
what they need, which has a wonderfully regulating effect
on their remaining fodder.
Moreover,
when we trace these intimate relationships in Nature, we
gain a new insight into the essence of what is harmful.
For just as the coniferous forests are intimately related
to the birds and the bushes to the mammals, so again all
that is mushroom — or fungus-like— has
an intimate relation to the lower animal world — to
the bacteria and such-like creatures, and notably the
harmful parasites. The harmful parasites go together with
the mushroom or fungus-nature; indeed they develop
wherever the fungus-nature appears scattered and
dispersed.
Thus
there arise the well-known plant-diseases and harmful
growths on a coarser and larger scale. If now we have not
only woods but meadows in the neighbourhood of the farm,
these meadows will be very useful, inasmuch as they
provide good soil for mushrooms and toadstools; and we
should see to it that the soil of the meadow is
well-planted with such growths. If there is near the farm
a meadow rich in mushrooms — it need not even be
very large — the mushrooms, being akin to the
bacteria and other parasitic creatures, will keep them
away from the rest. For the mushrooms and toadstools,
more than the other plants, tend to hold together with
these creatures. In addition to the methods I have
indicated for the destruction of these pests, it is
possible on a larger scale to keep the harmful
microscopic creatures away from the farm by a proper
distribution of meadows.
So we must look for a due distribution of wood and
forest, orchard and shrubbery, and meadow-lands with
their natural growth of mushrooms. This is the very
essence of good farming, and we shall attain far more by
such means, even if we reduce to some extent the surface
available for tillage.
It is no true economy to exploit the surface of the earth
to such an extent as to rid ourselves of all the things I
have here mentioned in the hope of increasing our crops.
Your large plantations will become worse in quality, and
this will more than outweigh the extra amount you gain by
increasing your tilled acreage at the cost of these other
things. You cannot truly engage in a pursuit so
intimately connected with Nature as farming is, unless
you have insight into these mutual relationships of
Nature's husbandry.
The time has come for us to bring home to ourselves those
wider aspects which will reveal, quite generally
speaking, the relation of plant to animal-nature, and
vice versa, of animal to plant-nature. What is an
animal? What is the world of plants? (for the world of
plants we must speak rather of a totality — the
plant-world as a whole.) Once more, what is an animal,
and what is the world of plants? We must discover what
the essential relation is; only so shall we understand
how to feed our animals. We shall not feed them properly
unless we see the true relationship of plant and animal.
What are the animals? Well may you look at their
outer forms! You can dissect them, if you will, till you
get down to the skeleton, in the forms of which you may
well take delight; you may even study them in the way I
have described. Theo you may study the musculature, the
nerves and so forth.
All this, however, will not lead you to perceive what the
animals really are in the whole household of Nature. You
will only perceive it if you observe what it is in the
environment to which the animal is directly and
intimately related. What the animal receives from its
environment and assimilates directly in its
nerves-and-senses system and in a portion of its
breathing system, is in effect all that which passes
first through air and warmth. Essentially,
in its own proper being, the animal is a direct
assimilator of air and warmth —
through the nerves-and-senses system.
Diagrammatically, we can draw the animal in this way: In
all that is there in its periphery, in its environment —
in the nerves-and-senses system and in a portion of the
breathing system — the animal is itself. In its own
essence, it is a creature that lives directly in the air
and warmth. It has an absolutely direct relation to the
air and warmth.
Notably out of the warmth its bony system is formed —
where the Moon- and Sun-influences are especially
transmitted through the warmth. Out of the air, its
muscular system is formed. Here again, the forces of Sun
and Moon are working through the air. But the animal
cannot relate itself thus directly to the earthy and
watery elements. It cannot assimilate water and earth
thus directly. It must indeed receive the earth and water
into its inward parts; it must therefore have the
digestive tract, passing inward from outside. With all
that it has become through the warmth and air, it then
assimilates the water and the earth inside it — by
means of its metabolic and a portion of its breathing
system.The breathing system passes over into the
metabolic system. With a portion of the breathing and a
portion of the metabolic system, the animal assimilates
“earth” and “water” In effect,
before it can assimilate earth and water, the animal
itself must be there by virtue of the air and warmth.
That is how the animal lives in the domain of earth and
water. (The assimilation-process is of course, as I have
often indicated, an assimilation more of forces than of
substances).
Now let us ask, in face of the above, what is a plant?
The answer is: the plant has an immediate relation to
earth and water, just as the animal has to air and
warmth. The plant—also through a kind of breathing
and through something remotely akin to the sense system —
absorbs into itself directly all that is earth and water;
just as the animal absorbs the air and warmth. The plant
lives directly with the earth and water.
Now you may say: Having recognised that the plant lives
directly with earth and water, just as the animal does
with air and warmth, may we not also conclude that the
plant assimilates the air and the warmth internally, even
as the animal assimilates the earth and water? Ne, it is
not so. To find the spiritual truths, we cannot merely
conclude by analogy from what we know. The fact is this:
Whereas the animal consumes the earthy and watery
material and assimilates them internally, the plant does
not consume but, on the contrary, secretes — gives
off —the air and warmth, which it experiences in
conjunction with the earthy soil. Air and warmth,
therefore, do not go in — at least, they do not go
in at all far. On the contrary they go out; instead of
being consumed by the plant, they are given off,
excreted, and this excretion-process is the important
point.
Organically speaking, the plant is in all respects an
inverse of the animal — a true inverse. The
excretion of air and warmth has for the plant the same
importance as the consumption of food for the animal. In
the same sense in which the animal lives by absorption of
food, the plant lives by excretion of air and warmth.
This, I would say, is the virginal quality of the plant.
By nature, it does not want to consume things greedily
for itself, but, on the contrary, it gives away what the
animal takes from the world, and lives thereby. Thus the
plant gives, and lives by giving.
Observe this give and take, and you perceive once more
what played so great a part in the old instinctive
knowledge of these things. The saying I have here derived
from anthroposophical study: “The plant in the
household of Nature gives, and the animal takes,”
was universal in an old instinctive and clairvoyant
insight into Nature. In human beings who were sensitive
to these things, some of this insight survived into later
times.
In Goethe you will often find this saying: Everything in
Nature lives by give and take. Look through Goethe's
works and you will soon find it. He did not fully
understand it any longer, but he revived it from old
usage and tradition; he felt that this proverb describes
something very true in Nature. Those who came after him
no longer understood it. To this day they do not
understand what Goethe meant when he spoke of “give
and take.” Even in relation to the breathing
process — its interplay with the metabolism —
Goethe speaks of “give and take.”
Clearly-unclearly, he uses this word.
Thus we have seen that forest and orchard, shrubbery and
bush are in a certain way regulators to give the right
form and development to the growth of plants over the
earth's surface. Meanwhile beneath the earth the lower
animals — larvae and worm-like creatures and the
like, in their unison with limestone — act as a
regulator likewise.
So must we regard the relation of tilled fields, orchards
and cattle-breeding in our farming work. In the remaining
hour that is still at our disposal, we shall indicate the
practical applications, enough for the good Experimental
Circle to work out and develop.