Today marks 100 years since Rudolf Steiner passed away, and there will likely be many events and commemorative activities. I want to contribute to this, but I would like to preface it with something.
About 20 years ago, maybe a little less, I watched a film about Rudolf Steiner—it was a DVD. In this film, there was likely an effort to make Rudolf Steiner more widely known. And in it, there was an image that deeply moved me: a bookshelf with a portrait of Rudolf Steiner inside it.
Yes, of course, that is something very ordinary, and one cannot expect him to appear himself, as he had already been dead for a long time. But there it was—his photo. And that made a profound impression on me. I suddenly felt: this is not right at all, because here, Rudolf Steiner is being remembered, but he is actually being treated as if he is dead. He passed away back then, and yes, we no longer have him. And of course, as anthroposophists, we know that he continues to live. But this photo showed something else. Rudolf Steiner is dead. He is no more.
And this later led me, when the issue of racism arose in Germany and I wanted to write a book to show that it is impossible to label Rudolf Steiner as a racist, to choose the title The Living Rudolf Steiner.
Of course, that is not entirely accurate either, because he is no longer Rudolf Steiner—not only that—after his death. Rudolf Steiner is then a part of his path through many incarnations. And when he passed away, he was, in a certain sense—how shall I put it—liberated from Rudolf Steiner. We know that, of course. But that image showed me that people know it intellectually, but they do not experience it.
And yes, an initiate who has died is not dead. And in fact, none of us are dead when we pass away. But with an initiate, it is something different. And that is what I want to preface, because today we commemorate 100 years since the passing of Rudolf Steiner. But he is not dead. And where he is now—only an initiate would know. There is much speculation about where he is, who he is, and so on. And to me, all of that remains fantasy, unless an initiate, with the certainty of an initiate, knows where he is and who he is.
So, let’s set that aside and simply feel today: 100 years is a significant span of time. Three times 33 1/3 years. In this sense, 100 years is truly something special. But did Rudolf Steiner die? No, he did not. And he is still alive.
So, I will read what I once wrote about his dying—not about the fact that he is dead. Of course, he was dead to the people who remained behind. They no longer had him the way they had before. But dead? No, not that.
In 2011, another celebration was held—150 years since Rudolf Steiner’s birth. That is something different. At that time, many biographies were published, and I contributed my part by trying to bring out Rudolf Steiner’s essential inner task, as far as I can sense it, as a guiding theme throughout the entire biography. And I then gave the book the title: Rudolf Steiner, a Spiritual Biography.
From this, I would like to read a few pages that relate to his passing—to his departure from the body on March 30, 1925. This book.
“Rudolf Steiner left earthly life. This departure must have had an unimaginable impact. As always, the finality of separation through death—and for those left behind, it was very much a death—first truly brings an awareness of who it is that is now no longer visible, audible, or tangible.
The awareness of what one has neglected, what one could have done and did not do, could have felt and did not feel, could have recognized and did not recognize—all of this irrevocably descends upon one after the death of a beloved person. Like a kind of Kamaloka to be experienced on Earth by those left behind. For them, this deprivation must have been unbearable. This unbearable feeling will have been one of the reasons for the conflict that broke out. The human emotional life always seeks an escape from unbearable feelings. And temperament plays a role in determining what kind of escape this will be—whether to withdraw or to become outwardly active, to blame one another. It seems too banal to write down, but it is understandable.
We look back at the entire work of Rudolf Steiner. At everything he developed within himself, at what profound insights he received and passed on. We look at a person who could do nothing else but sacrifice everything he had and was, until the very last moment.
The sources I have used to testify to certain events—Wachsmuth, Wegman, Marie Steiner—speak of this person with whom they lived. The most heartfelt testimony is certainly that of Ita Wegman. The purest, but also the most reproachful, is that of Marie Steiner. The most abstract is that of Günther Wachsmuth.
One should try to form an impression, a heartfelt impression, of this gifted human being, Rudolf Steiner. He must have been conceived by the divine hierarchies as the initiation path itself, as the knowledge of the stars itself, in the purest and best sense. What is it like to have lived alongside such a person, to have worked with him? What is it like when the farewell comes? And what about all those people who could not come so close to him, yet still experienced him?
And then come some quotations. There is a biography of Marie Steiner, written by Marie Savitch. And she writes:
“On May 28, 1928, a meeting took place in Stuttgart with some Waldorf teachers about this last issue, and on March 29, immediately after the recitation evening, another meeting took place.
After the recitation evening, Marie Steiner received the news that Rudolf Steiner’s condition had worsened, but that there was still no reason for particular concern or for an immediate departure to Dornach. This was a statement from an authoritative source.
In the early morning hours, Marie Steiner received the message that Rudolf Steiner’s condition was deteriorating rapidly and that she needed to return to Dornach. Despite the frantic speed of her journey back to Dornach, time was not sufficient. Marie Steiner was not present at the moment of Rudolf Steiner’s death.
In the last 24 hours of his earthly life, as she had for the past 23 years, she fulfilled his mission and served his work and intentions.
Marie Steiner entered the studio where Rudolf Steiner lay in repose. Many people were there, who, in their deep emotion, did not immediately realize that Rudolf Steiner’s widow had entered the room. Then, gradually, all moved away from the bier. Deeply, Marie Steiner bowed her head over Rudolf Steiner’s head. No other expression came from her. She stood there for a while. A chair was placed forward, and she remained in the studio for some time. She kept vigil by him throughout the nights and spent much time alone in the studio.
At the funeral ceremony, Rudolf Steiner was laid in repose in the carpentry workshop. The features of his face, the beauty of the shape of his head and hands, were now illuminated by the glow of the candles. He lay in ceremonial robes, resembling the garments of a figure from his mystery dramas.
Everything was covered with black curtains. This was the outward appearance. The room itself was filled with the pain of loss that the people experienced. The awareness now penetrated them that they would no longer see him in the earthly realm, no longer hear his words, no longer be able to speak with him. The shock deepened. The days following Rudolf Steiner’s death until the cremation were filled with such inner tension that many could only endure them by experiencing these days in a state akin to dreaming.
At the cremation, the experience of the highest reality rose far beyond the spiritual strength of those present. And even if only a few experienced this with full wakefulness, it was present in everyone—the connection to Rudolf Steiner in spirit, the direct effect of Rudolf Steiner from the spirit. United in its members, the Anthroposophical Society was elevated to a center of spiritual forces during the cremation. After this immense, all-strength-consuming, sublime event, one cannot be surprised that even the strongest could be seized by fatigue, by exhaustion.
This is Marie Savitch. And then comes Ita Wegman.
On Sunday, March 29, Ita Wegman noticed a change in Rudolf Steiner’s condition. He awoke with pain. That morning, for the first time, no work was done. He was extraordinarily quiet and patient that day and gave new instructions for his treatment. At four in the afternoon, the pain returned. My inner restlessness would not subside. I insisted that Dr. Steiner, who was in Stuttgart, be notified. Dr. Noll did not share my concern. However, I managed to ensure that Marie Steiner was called in Stuttgart. The doctor also showed nothing that could give cause for alarm. He even asked whether the adjacent studio would soon be finished so that he could work on the inner model of the new Goetheanum.
And so, we entered the night. His pulse was slightly faster than usual but strong and regular. I could not bring myself to lie down and stayed awake, keeping the light on. To my great surprise, the doctor allowed this, something I had never been able to insist on before, even in previous times when I had feared for his life. What was this? Even Dr. Noll remained awake in the next room. The early hours of the night passed quietly. I observed every breath and immersed myself in prayer to preserve this precious life. Then, at around three in the morning, I noticed a slight change in his breathing. It became faster.
I approached the bed; he was not asleep. He looked at me and asked if I was tired. With this question, he anticipated me, which touched me infinitely.
His pulse was now not as strong as before and much faster. I called Dr. Noll to discuss what should be done. The doctor was not surprised to see him awake in the middle of the night and greeted him kindly.
“I am not feeling bad at all,” he said. “I just cannot sleep.”
So, we turned off the light. But at four o’clock, he called me because the pain returned.
“And as soon as day breaks, we will continue the treatment I have prescribed,” he said.
He wanted to grant us rest, and with this sentence, he once again proved that he always thought of others and never of himself. Of course, we did not wait for the day but did what was necessary. But then the situation soon changed—the pulse weakened, his breaths became faster, and we had to experience how this life gradually faded, how our guide, teacher, and friend departed from the physical plane.
His passing was like a miracle, as if it happened naturally—he simply went. It felt to me as if, in the very last moment, the dice of fate were cast, and once they had fallen, there was no struggle, no attempt to remain on Earth anymore. He gazed quietly ahead for some time, spoke a few kind words to me, and consciously closed his eyes and folded his hands.” This was published in the Nachrichtenblatt on April 19, 1925.
This is how the death of Rudolf Steiner took place. And he left behind an enormous wealth of work. And I believe it is correct to say that with this content, we can continue working for centuries. The person who was Rudolf Steiner at that time does not need to return to us for new content.
However, what is hoped for after death, following the example of Christ, is that a resurrection can take place. The body cannot yet achieve this. The spirit rises after death. But what about the work that was left behind? This content, with which we can continue working for centuries, ultimately remains ineffective if we do not work on spiritualizing our capacity for understanding, so that everything we absorb from anthroposophical content comes to life again.
We can continue reading, studying, meditating in groups for centuries, asking ourselves: what does this mean, what does that mean? But that is, of course, not a resurrection. There were moments in the life of Rudolf Steiner when he very clearly said: now thinking must be spiritualized. And there are those lectures about the night-human within the day-human, which Rudolf Steiner, I believe shortly after the burning of the Goetheanum, gave.
From this, it becomes clear that a resurrection of anthroposophy is not possible if the readers, the students, do not bring willpower into their thinking. That would be a resurrection. And I never tire of saying this again and again. And at this commemoration of 100 years since the death of Rudolf Steiner, I want to say it once more with all my strength: there is enough content. The content will only become effective through a resurrection of thinking. That means spiritualization of thinking. And the spiritualization of thinking means learning to think with will.
