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.”
