Biodynamic Farming

Plants in Biodynamic Farming

In order to appreciate fully the reasons for various bio-dynamic practices we have to build up a rather more vivid concept of plants than is customary in conventional thought. They are usually regarded as mechanisms subject only to the same laws as hold good in a physics or chemistry laboratory or in the working of a machine. People seem to be so dazzled by the brilliance of the research into such things as the genetic code and single cell metabolism and by the ideas put forward to explain them, that certain vital more holistic aspects have been overlooked. Each new discovery, though it may appear to provide an answer to a question, more often than not poses further questions. The frontier of the unknown may be pushed back a little, but it remains as impenetrable as ever. Although the processes of growth, reproduction and decay are all deemed to be controlled by various communication networks which switch genes on and off, one is still left with the old Latin conundrum, Quis custodiet ipsos custodies? (Who is there to control the controllers?). Who or what is there to read the genetic code and operate the switchboard?

Let us begin by comparing a rock or a crystal with a plant, and for the sake of simplicity we will take an annual plant—it is not too difficult to apply the same concepts to perennials or even to trees. To make the imagination more realistic we might choose at random a definite mineral, say quartz, and a definite plant, say a broad bean. On the one hand the quartz crystal gives us the strong impression that its shape, its beautiful form, has been imposed on it by influences coming from outside; it is a piece of finished work, and can only be changed by some external physical force. The form of the bean plant on the other hand, though just as beautiful in its own way, has quite a different quality; it is never precisely the same from one moment to another, and this continuous change arises from out of itself. What we see at any given time is like one frame of a long ciné film comprising a rhythmic pattern of development, fruition and decay. Even this pattern does not quite represent the whole broad bean which has connections with all past generations and also with the generations still to come. Instead of a static entity like the crystal, we have in the bean plant a centre or focus of highly organised activities. Together with a few of today's leading biologists, we are almost irresistibly led to postulate the supersensible presence of a body of organising formative forces: Rudolf Steiner called this the etheric body. Just as any separate piece of matter has a centre of gravity derived from the whole gravity field of the earth, so every living creature acquires an etheric body derived from the earth's etheric field; this has been described by H. Poppelbaum as a morphogenetic field and can be seen as the link between material manifestation and the higher spiritual worlds beyond. This whole complex of activity, this weaving, vibrant, pulsating essence as Rudolf Steiner put it, is the sphere in which homoeopathic remedies and substances in very high dilutions are effective.

The etheric body of an individual plant could perhaps be seen as the switchboard operator which earlier we failed to find. It interprets the general pattern of the particular plant and modifies or adapts it to fit into the individual niches in which single specimens are growing. It heals any wounds which may occur, and reacts in the most favourable way to any changes, physical or supersensible, earthly or cosmic, which may take place in the environment. The patterns themselves, the ciné films, have their home in the next spiritual plane above the etheric, usually known as the astral.

Continuing our imagination of the bean plant, let us now look at a plant as it stands with its roots reaching down into the earth, its leaves spread to receive the incoming cosmic stream, its flowers opening up to the heavens and to the insect world. Just as the roots merge almost imperceptibly into the soil, into the element earth and water, so leaves and blossoms with their continual interchange of substances can be thought of as merging with the elements air and fire (warmth). The former feel the pulse of the earth's rhythms, the latter connect with the influences of the starry world, with the circling paths of the planets. Selflessly each individual plant passes through time, performing its own special part as a member of the plant kingdom in the cosmic task of giving. Through photosynthesis plants remove carbon dioxide from the air and give out oxygen in its place for the benefit of the earth as a whole and for man and animal in particular. They give their substance in various forms for the nourishment of man and animal including the insects. Some give themselves as healers, some, as we shall shortly see, are there merely to help other plants growing near them. A few, like some rare human beings, create an atmosphere of wellbeing by their mere presence. But whatever people with electrical gadgets and boiling prawns may say, plants have no direct feelings of pleasure and pain like animals or men; they have no organs for such experiences. This does not imply that such experiments have been rigged, but just that they have been misinterpreted. In fact if one takes the concept of an etheric field as valid, it would be surprising if the instruments had not reacted under the circumstances described.

If different plants, say a wheat plant, a cabbage, a carrot and a bean, are grown close together so that the roots of each have access to the same soil conditions, if they are subsequently burnt and their ashes analysed chemically, it is quite remarkable how the proportions of the chemical elements in the various ashes are entirely different. Though the amounts will vary slightly according to the soil, the patterns are just as characteristic for each species as are the leaf and floral forms. A plant can select what it needs from the soil in which it is growing, always provided that its needs are there in the first place. There are, however, exceptions. On the one hand, if the soil solution has been affected by the application of soluble fertilisers, the plants may be forced to take up more of certain elements than they require, and their whole metabolism may then be so disrupted that they become sitting targets for pathogenic organisms. On the other hand, some species of plants have as their special function in Nature's household the collection of some one or other of the chemical elements out of the atmosphere. This phenomenon can be seen as a kind of depotentisation—the opposite of potentising—for it seems (contrary to current dogma) that we are surrounded by matter in what E. Lehrs calls its imponderable state, or in statu nascendi (in a state of becoming). That this is no idle fancy is demonstrated by the Spanish moss (Tillandsia usneoides) which grows on telegraph wires in South America out of all contact with the soil. It is vigorous and can be shown to have a full complement of all the major chemical elements together with a wide range of the trace elements. The quantities involved are so large that they could hardly have been absorbed from the sporadic rain which in any case has only the smallest trace of phosphate in it. The only explanation is that substance has been condensed out of the air. It is interesting to record that the opposite process has recently been proved experimentally: pine and pea seedlings have been shown to disperse into the air soil contaminants such as cadmium and zinc.

Experiments on somewhat similar lines were conducted in the former Soviet Union. They grew maize and a type of bean together in mixed stands. On some plots they persuaded the bean to fix a radioactive isotope of nitrogen, and by means of a Geiger counter they very soon found some of this nitrogen in the maize plants. On other plots they sprayed the maize foliage with radioactive phosphate and before long it had found its way into the beans. So it seems that plants not only draw nutrients out of the soil solution, but that they are also able to contribute to this solution for the benefit of plants of other species. Thus a pool of nutrients is created in the soil by the plants growing on it: if their species are diverse and well mixed, the pool will be rich; but in a monoculture or with incompatible species the pool will be nonexistent. These facts shed an interesting light on companion planting, and may also give us cause to revise our ideas about weeds: perhaps they are not so universally bad as is usually supposed.

From our picture of a plant standing between heaven and earth it is not surprising that sunlight, either direct or obscured by cloud, has a very strong influence on the way in which a plant develops its inherent qualities. Everybody knows how root crops stored in a dark cellar produce elongated, rather shapeless shoots and tiny leaves quite devoid of colour. This is of course an extreme case, but it does indicate how closely plant nature and light nature are interwoven. Some plant species, particularly those belonging to the lower orders such as ferns and mosses, are attuned to cool, shady conditions; but others requiring full sunlight will languish when shaded by taller companions. These facts will influence the planning of a garden and care needs to be taken that taller vegetables do not unduly restrict shorter neighbours; orientating the rows north and south will help to solve this difficulty.

Even more important for the growth of many annuals and perennials is the seasonal effect of longer and shorter days. Some plants need a long day before they can form flower buds, others must have short days. For instance, beetroot bolts if sown too early. Apart from the length of day there are other more subtle differences in the quality of the sun's light according to the constellation of the zodiac in which it is standing at any given time. It is at present difficult to specify these effects for practical planning, but they should always be borne in mind when trying to assess the reasons for unexpected phenomena. Perhaps it is something of this nature which renders groundsel and some other common weeds very susceptible to rust diseases after the middle of August. All this points to the desirability of sowing annual crops so that they mature in their proper season. We have so many plants at our disposal covering the whole year that it is rather unnecessary to try to grow any of them out of season; it is senseless to complain of lack of success, of pest and disease attacks, if one does attempt to do this.

Trees fall into a category rather different from annual and herbaceous plants. One feature, as Grohmann so clearly points out, is that the side shoots of an annual are arranged in a pattern determined by its phyllotaxis; the branches of a tree spring from the trunk in patterns quite unrelated to the succession of its leaves on the twigs. The forms created by the branches are characteristic of each individual species, a fact which can be noted with great interest in winter when the deciduous trees have shed their leaves. The whole development of trees takes place in their own special milieu of formative forces.

From an imaginative point of view it is possible to regard the trunks of trees with their main branches as raised mounds of soil, each leaf-bearing shoot and twig being a separate plantlet growing out of this enhanced kind of earth. This is not the place to go more deeply into the idea.

In any general account of plant life as seen from the bio-dynamic standpoint it is perhaps fitting to conclude with a description of Goethe's far-reaching observation, conducted over many years and brought to fruition in his Metamorphosis of Plants. He was inspired to this study when he asked himself the questions, How do we know that an object in front of our gaze is a plant? What are its essential characteristics? He felt that there must be some universal underlying pattern behind the form and development of every plant species. Contrary to the common practice of starting with the lowest type of plants from which the higher orders are supposed to have evolved, he took his stand at the outset on the higher flowering plants, and saw the lower orders as less successful strivings towards the higher goal. He eventually found the secret in the green leaf with a node at its base. He saw how in many plants the leaves develop from the shapeless cotyledons of the seed, gradually exhibiting their particular form and then withdrawing it as flowering approaches: buttercups and delphiniums are especially good for studying this phenomenon. In other plants the leaf shape is more or less constant from the start. After this display, or sometimes concurrent with it, the leaf forms contract and gather together to make the calyx for the flower. There is an expansion as the blooms open out followed by a contraction into the floral organs, anthers and ovaries; but the latter are in fact metamorphosed leaves. One example which led Goethe to this latter conclusion was the comparatively common sight of a small leaf appearing instead of an anther in the flower of a wild rose. After fertilisation another expansion occurs as the fruit and seeds begin to swell; but the carpels enclosing the seeds are again metamorphosed leaves, a fact which is often obvious when picking peas—the leaves look like pods.

Thus Goethe's archetypal plant arose in his mind's eye—expansion into leaf, contraction into flower bud, expansion into flower, contraction into floral organs, expansion into seed and fruit and a final contraction into the ripened seed. This Ur-plant is not to be seen as a physical primaeval ancestor from which the whole plant kingdom has descended, but is a fundamental pattern in the world beyond the senses, and into it there can flow an infinite number of forms and rhythms to produce different species in the physical world. In the lower plant orders parts of the pattern are omitted or coalesce. Rudolf Steiner developed this theme further to include the root, and glimpses of his adaptations are to be found throughout Agriculture. This theme has been extensively elaborated by G. Grohmann who has shown in what ways the lower plant orders—gymnosperms, ferns, mosses and so on—can be seen as less successful strivings towards a more perfect goal.

The Primal Plant, or Ur-Plant

On a journey through the Swiss Alps and into Italy, Goethe noticed that plants of the same species, which grew in his home country, looked so different that one could be deceived into thinking one had a different species before one's eyes. (We can follow up the same observation if we take a plant such as plantain or dandelion, observe it growing with thin, pointed leaves on the dry hillsides, and compare it to when it grows succulently and fleshy in the moist lowlands.) These observations led Goethe to develop the concept of a primal plant, or Ur-plant, as a basic theme that is played in a number of variations according to the circumstances. These circumstances, the various formative forces in nature, radically modify the plant's expression. This Ur-plant is not a phylogenetic or prehistoric prototype but is present in all living plants. It is the appropriate idea that underlies the phenomena of all plants in their ever-changing variation. Whereas the various manifestations are apprehended by the external senses, the Ur-plant is perceived by the mind. Both the empirical plant and the Ur-plant belong together to give us the whole plant.

Various elemental forces modify the manifestation of the Ur-plant. The physiognomy of the empirical plant as it grows shows us what elemental and formative forces are at work, on one hand, but shows us the idea of the plant ever-anew on the other hand. As the plant moves from seed to leaf to flower and fruit and back to seed, it is always changing, always in the process of becoming, of expressing its being, which is only comprehended by the inner senses. In characterizing the Ur-plant, Goethe sees the leaf as its basic organ, which goes through its various stages of metamorphosis from contraction to expansion, ever-changing and ever the same.

Thoughts like these lead the biodynamic gardener to the conclusion that if crops are not doing well, growing stunted and subject to disease, the fault lies not so much within the plants themselves. It is the effect of various forces that work upon the plant, the combination of formative forces and vectors such as the mineral substratum, water, light, and warmth that give the idea of the plant its concrete manifestation.

It is through understanding the idea of the archetypal plant, the Ur-plant, which unfolds into various manifestations, that Goethe could assert that the laws of mechanics are all right for the inorganic world, but for the world of living organisms, other laws are at work. He delineated three laws that characterize living organisms, plants in particular. They are the laws of dynamic polarity, metamorphosis, and intensification.

Law of Polarity

The law of polarity shows that one of the major characteristics of plants is their dualistic nature. From the seed the plant grows geocentrically into the soil and heliocentrically into the air. Nowhere is something similar to be found in inorganic nature. The plant responds to the polarities of the day and night, winter and summer, waxing and waning moon. Polarity is found in the male and female flowers, in the round, cosmic bud and the extended terrestrial leaf. Wherever one looks into the realm of organic nature, the archetypal polarities manifest themselves, such as in the green chlorophyll molecules and the red hemoglobin molecules, which are perfect mirror images of each other except that the hemoglobin has an iron radical where the chlorophyll has a magnesium radical attached. A fascinating polarity exists between the plant and the butterfly. Do the eggs not correspond to the seeds; the quick growing, segmented caterpillar to the quick-growing shoot that is segmented from node to node; then just as the plant folds itself into a flower bud, so does the caterpillar spin itself into a pupa to emerge in radiant color as a butterfly as the flower bud blooms into a flower. The butterfly's proboscis fits perfectly the flower chalice; and just as the one dies to lay eggs, the other fades to make seeds. Each step is thus exquisitely matched, as though one were watching a beautiful dance.

In a meditative approach to gardening, the biodynamic gardener will look for such harmonies and symmetries, think of the roots when looking at leaf and flower, think of the opposites that make up the complete picture.

Law of Metamorphosis

Living organisms do not grow by processes of mechanical addition or construction like erector sets. They grow in pulsating rhythms, at certain points reaching a crescendo and continuing at a qualitatively different pace. Consider an ordinary weed. Who can predict, upon seeing the mere little seed, what kind of plant it will become? The seed does not just turn into a bigger and bigger seed, but it radically changes, metamorphoses; it breaks open, sends out a rootlet and two cotyledons. Again, the appearance of regular leaves could not have been predicted from studying the cotyledons. As new leaves form at the internodes, they remain pretty much similar, only being broader and rounder at the base and finer, more laced and pointed the higher the plant grows. Then, suddenly, another unpredictable change occurs: the leaves totally metamorphose, turning into a corona of petals and sepals. Finally, yet another metamorphosis occurs in the fruiting and the creation of a new set of seeds. These metamorphoses occur rhythmically and in relation to terrestrial and cosmic factors. None of the states are deductible from the previous level of organization. Each time a completely new set of phenomena appears, yet they are all part of the same plant organism passing into ever new manifestation.

The biodynamic gardener can watch if the metamorphoses are occurring in a normal fashion in his or her plants, or whether these processes occur too fast as in the shooting into seed of some plants, or too slowly as in delayed ripening. It becomes a heuristic exercise to study different plants in their characteristic development. Comparing the different brassica-varieties, we see that kohlrabi is really an exaggerated stem, broccoli and cauliflower are in the floral stage, and collards and kales are fixated in the leaf stage, head cabbages are really overgrown terminal buds, etc. Each manifests a stage within the whole metamorphic range of the Brassica oleraceae. Onions like to hover in the bud stage. Oak galls are a fruit induced by the sting of a wasp. The examples can go on forever.

Law of Increment or of Enhancing Intensification

The law of increment or of enhancing intensification is another characteristic of organic life discussed by Goethe. In the mechanical, inorganic world systems wear down. The more energy is taken out, the less there is; parts wear out and depletion results. In the inorganic, physical world the second law of thermodynamics holds true. This is at the base of so much thinking in agriculture today: regarding weeds as competitors with the crops, insects as leaks in the energy system, fearing that the NPK continuously depletes and must be replaced as one would do with a mechanism. Goethe saw nature in a different light. Life is not just wearing down and depleting, but it is building itself up and creating energy at the same time. The more life there is, the more life it can support. On a farm, for example, the more varied the number and kind of organisms are, the better the ecosystem will sustain itself. Maintaining a complex ecosystem is part of the reason for companion planting, for controlled use of weeds, for not getting hysterical about a few bugs, and for circulating animal manures within the system. There is a mazeway of subtle interaction and mutual support among all the organisms in such a farm, such that insets and weeds will not be a problem and overall vitality and quality will be enhanced.6 Contrary to the thought of some radical vegetarians, livestock, in the right number, are not competitors with man for a limited amount of vegetation; instead they are valuable symbionts enhancing growth and health of the vegetation. By comparison, farms and gardens that practice monoculture create imbalances that will deplete the regenerative and enhancing potentials, will wear out the soil, and will experience weeds and bugs as competitors and incur heavy damage from them. We see here the mechanistic attitude turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy.