Rudolf Steiner
Introduction
Anyone today who sets out to describe the life of Rudolf Steiner faces a difficult task. They must write about a man who left behind a body of work so multifaceted and yet so rich in content that it seems it would take centuries to understand, assimilate, and fully realize all that he contributed. It is hard to create a mental image of a person who would be capable of demonstrating, in all the fields in which Rudolf Steiner was active, to what new results and to what entirely new working methods this immense life’s work leads, hardly a mind broad enough to convey the significance of this superhumanly great, creative genius for the development of humanity in all the fields in which he worked.
Is it, then, presumptuous to attempt to present a portrait of Rudolf Steiner’s personality within the confines of this limited space? One might regard it as presumptuous were it not for the simultaneous need for such a portrayal, expressed in the increasingly frequent questions: “Who was Rudolf Steiner, and what is anthroposophy?”
One certainly cannot say that Rudolf Steiner was popular during his lifetime—popular in the sense that everyone knew his name, that his picture appeared regularly in the daily newspapers, or that generally accessible articles were written about him. There are great thinkers today, and also great artists, who likely enjoy such popularity. However, they do not owe this to the fact that their statements are understandable to everyone or that their art can be properly appreciated by all. Often the opposite is the case. Consider, for example, one of his contemporaries, Albert Einstein. The newspaper-reading public was always informed about his travels, received summaries of his lectures, and spoke of him as an acquaintance. Even if he was not a personal acquaintance, he was still someone whose significance in the cultural world was known. Even those who had not read any of his works—and who, if they did read them, would certainly not understand them—mentioned his name and spoke about him.
Another example: For several years, one could find books by the Indian poet Tagore in almost every family where people read. Here, too, there was genuine popularity, though again not rooted in understanding, but in empathizing with the profound thoughts of the Eastern poet.
How can such popularity be explained? It is a process comparable to the crystallization of salt in a supersaturated solution. A small cause—the falling of a crystal fragment into the solution—causes the entire mass of salt, which was suspended in it in a dissolved state, to crystallize all at once. So it is here as well. At any given time, one finds certain thoughts, certain feelings, which are active in almost all people, mostly in an indefinite, indistinct form. Something of this lives in every soul, completely unconsciously in most, semi-consciously in many, and fully consciously in only a few. Then suddenly a scholar, an artist, or a philosopher appears, and all at once it is perceived as a sensation that what he speaks, writes, or composes is the very content of what thousands could not—or could only partially—think. Such thoughts and feelings dominate an era, even if only a few are aware of it.
Thus, a natural science that had become increasingly abstract over the centuries found its culmination in Einstein’s theory of relativity. The universe was reduced to a series of concepts and formulas so complex that only the advanced mathematician or physicist can understand them all. And yet: the little that reached the newspaper-reading public was enough to make the name Einstein popular. He became, as it were, a symbol of the spirit dominating this era, which led the natural sciences ever further along the path of abstraction.
Thus Tagore’s name, too, could become a symbol—a symbol of the striving that rebels against a worldview that has become abstract, seeking solace in expressions of the soul in which something of humanity’s eternity and divine origin resonates; a symbol of a mysticism that flows into the emotions and can carry the soul into unknown worlds of beauty and freedom. Einstein and Tagore are two names among many, chosen arbitrarily as representatives of two currents active in our time; both have become popular despite the fact that only a few were able to understand or empathize with the true value of their works.
Rudolf Steiner could not become popular in this sense. Anyone who has truly attempted to study his work will understand why this is so.
With Rudolf Steiner, it is not thoughts from the past or feelings rooted in ancient times that are conveyed. No, with him a new era is heralded. Where he speaks, there is a different spirit of the times, a spirit that wants to be heard in the world, but which does not speak the language to which listeners have been accustomed for centuries. With him, a precipitate cannot form from a state of over-saturation; rather, he extracts the grain of a new salt.
The spirit of the times, originating from the past, speaks a powerful language. It has thousands of helpers who have been spreading its message across the earth for centuries. In the scientific realm, laboratories, hospitals, observatories, and research stations stand at its disposal. Thousands work in them and send countless publications out into the world. Millions of people read about them in the newspapers. The language is familiar to them, even where they do not understand the content or can only do so with great difficulty.
Even in the realm of art, a powerful tradition is at work. Even among those who proudly call themselves “modern,” few know how to break free from it.
In this all-pervading, manifold chorus proclaiming the greatness of the still-reigning spirit, another voice suddenly rings out. The new spirit of the age is announcing itself. Rudolf Steiner is its herald! He shows how much of what is attributed to the true spirit of our century is, in fact, rooted in old ways of thinking and old emotional forces. Like the proud edifice of the natural sciences, however significant and valuable it may be for external development, it is nevertheless incapable of inspiring all those who wish to stand as human beings in their time—as real, living human beings born of the spirit.
The same is true within art: there, too, a mighty edifice, colorful and vibrant, whimsical and fantastical, often profound and touching upon life’s great mysteries, yet at other times wild and chaotic, tearing open hidden realms of the human soul.—There, too, there is no refuge for the soul of one who wishes to ascend through art to the world of the spirit.
Yet the new spirit of the times proclaimed by Rudolf Steiner seeks to lead people to the spirit—to the spirit that can speak to the intellect in clear, luminous terms, that can ennoble the soul and steel the will in the service of humanity’s highest ideals. But the language spoken by Rudolf Steiner is difficult to understand for those who are truly “children of their time.” It is not the language itself that is difficult, but the souls of those who hear it are filled with time-bound mental images and time-bound feelings. People have formed opinions about all sorts of things, and where they have no opinion, certain catchphrases or ways of thinking resonate in the unconscious life of the soul. All of this forces itself upon one with great intensity when one encounters Rudolf Steiner’s clear spiritual language. It is all so different. One cannot take it in from the routine of thinking or the conventions of feeling.
And then: where does one find the peace to think through this indescribable wealth anew from a completely new perspective, indeed from constantly shifting perspectives?
Thus, many obstacles stand in the way of bringing a life’s work like Rudolf Steiner’s into people’s consciousness in the way that would be necessary in our time, when the course of human development is undergoing a severe crisis.
One can cite another example. Anyone describing our time can point to much that has already been achieved. They may feel like someone describing a flowering plant on which many beautiful, large blossoms can be seen. Yet anyone who sees beyond what the moment reveals can already notice that the blossoms are beginning to wither. The moment of greatest beauty is also the moment when decay begins. The peak of outward development is the beginning of death. When the flower has shown its full splendor, it dies. As it dies, the forces for the future gather within the seed.
Thus, Rudolf Steiner’s life’s work is like a seed, barely sprouted, amidst the dying flowers of our culture.