In the fall of 1980 I found myself on a
hillside in Sussex England on a cold grey day, stuffing compost by the
forkful into a deep hole in the ground, preparing it for nothing more
essential than sweet peas, the flower beloved of English gardeners. I was
a student in a course on biodynamic gardening at a quirky, rather winsome
little college called Emerson. It was dedicated to the life and teaching
of a quirky, and equally winsome, spiritual leader from Austro-Hungary
whose special vision of the universe had promulgated a host of offshoot
disciplines at obscure seats of learning like Emerson itself.
Rudolf Steiner, born in 1861, is generally
pictured in a dark velvety suit, gazing, it seems, into the far distance
(or more likely, into some inner, astral landscape). He was the child of
ambitious class-bounders who had the good sense to put their only son into
a science school. Perhaps they hoped to drum some common sense into the
lad, as they were less than comfortable with his apparent ability to see
through the physical world into a parallel, etheric universe.
It was this second sight which impelled
Steiner to teach, invent, amalgamate, lecture and to gather a band of
followers to study what he named anthroposophy. One of his primary
interests was child development, about which he advanced many fascinating
theories, and schools with the appellation Waldorf are his educational
legacy. He was also intrigued by the relationship between movement, dance
and communication, and this concentration spawned the semi-occult art of “eurythmy.”
But perhaps the best known of his obsessions, and the one whose name falls
most trippingly off the tongue, is biodynamics. Bio, for life,
dynamic, for energy. This was arguably the brightest jewel in the
anthroposophical crown, the work which has done the most to popularize
Steiner and keep his name alive into the 21st century.
Because Steiner was able to see not merely the
forms of all living things but their existence on a higher plane, he
postulated that plants and animals are interdependent. Not one to stop at
some simple scientific story about photosynthesis and chlorophyll, Steiner
taught that a plant is nourished at every level, by the soil, the air and
of course the warmth and moisture of the heavens. He believed that
plants, like people, will differ according to the day and hour of their
birth. And he proposed a unique “medicine” for plant health, the
“biodynamic preparation” based on the principles of homeopathy.
Because Steiner himself was involved in so
many different disciplines and an early exemplar of multi-tasking, he
needed able lieutenants. Prominent among them was Dr Erhenfried
Pfeiffer. Pfeiffer, about 40 years Steiner’s junior, codified many of the
visionary’s teachings about agriculture by putting them into consistent
practice. This was necessary work. Steiner was the idea man, leaving it
to those around him to test out the many theories that seemed to flow out
of him like beads on a string. Pfeiffer was a likeable, practical sort of
bloke who suggested that one day mankind would erect a monument to the
earthworm.
Unfortunately, Steiner himself tended to speak
in long, fabulous rhapsodies, sometimes obfuscating the good sense of his
utterances and possibly losing a great deal in the translation from the
original German.
Here is one tiny example from the man’s
prodigious lectures, giving a flavor not only of his ornate speaking style
but also the fascination of his unique inner vision:
“Finally we get the impression that all
quartz rocks are like eyes through which the Earth can see into the
Cosmos. We are reminded of the many-faceted eyes of insects which divide
into numbers of parts whatever comes toward them from the outside. We
should, and indeed must, picture innumerable quartz and similar
formations on the surface of the Earth as being eyes enabling the Earth
inwardly to reflect and indeed inwardly perceive the cosmic environment.
And gradually the knowledge dawns in us that every crystal formation
present in the Earth is a sense organ for perceiving the Cosmos.”
