The Rudolf Steiner Archive

85. Closing Speech at the Raout in the Matthiaskunst in Wrocław

[ 1 ] Count Keyserlingk has just declined the thanks that I and others have expressed to him and his entire household from the bottom of our hearts over the past few days. But this gratitude will remain nonetheless; and it will also remain, firmly rooted in the hearts of those who are now leaving our friends in Breslau once again after these beautiful days of Pentecost. It will also remain deeply etched in my heart as a beautiful memory of these days of Pentecost. You see, I would like to explain to you—how profound this gratitude must be—by drawing a little on history, so to speak, in these moments; or rather, by drawing on a symptom from the recent history of the Anthroposophical Society that I have encountered right here over the past two days.

[ 2 ] Please forgive me if, as our wonderful days draw to a close, I begin to present what I actually mean objectively in the light of what may seem personal. Over the past two nights—as has been the case every week now—I’ve had to write two essays here in Koberwitz, just as I usually do in various other places, mostly in Dornach. One was intended for the journal Goetheanum, the other for the newsletter. In the Goetheanum magazine, I was to describe a few stages of my life’s journey from the year 1889; and in the newsletter, I was to describe what we have experienced here during these days of Pentecost. Exactly 35 years lie between them—a beautiful span of time, yet one that for me represents a kind of ascent of our anthroposophical movement.

[ 3 ] At that time, it wasn’t Pentecost; it was Christmas. I traveled from Vienna to Sibiu in Transylvania to give lectures there. So even back then, giving lectures was, so to speak, part of my intellectual vocation. I undertook this long journey to give two lectures over the course of an even longer period—one to the general public and one to a smaller circle in Sibiu. Those were also beautiful days back then—beautiful Christmas days. But I must accept how these two accounts—the account of something that happened 35 years ago and the account of what has just taken place—present themselves to me; I must accept what has happened in the meantime. Back then, it was certainly very lovely within a small circle as well. But now I must let what once had—I would say—a rather limited scope—it was difficult to approach the world with what one was actually allowed to say—I must let that sink into my soul again and again and reflect on how difficult it was back then to convey even a small part of that spiritual content to the world. After all, I could only report on two lectures that were held in a city that was, in a sense, quite cut off from the world. Then, when the second night came—the last one, immediately preceding today—I had to write my report; I didn’t know where to begin, or what to say in just a few columns. There were so many lectures, so many events, so much that was crammed into those days.

[ 4 ] Let’s just briefly review what we’ve covered so far. We have the two poles of spiritual activity: the inner, intimate activity that leads directly into the shaping of the spiritual realm, as this spiritual realm exists on Earth itself. Then we have the other pole, which—I would say—in this case, to the deep satisfaction of anthroposophists, has now, precisely during these days of Pentecost, taken its place alongside the first pole; here we have that which could be brought forth from the spiritual world for an eminently practical life activity: agriculture. So to speak, this path could be traversed every day in the soul—from the spiritually practical in the morning to the purely spiritual in the afternoon and evening, which is, after all, the original source of all that is practical. And what else emerged between these two poles!

[ 5 ] The events that took place—to my deep satisfaction—for the youth and springing from the youth themselves. It was during this time that what could be drawn from the wellspring of the esoteric was brought to the fore in the classroom lessons. This found such a deeply satisfying continuation just yesterday, this week, when the enthusiastic Kugelmann group presented “Iphigenia” to us, showing how it had emerged from the inspiration of the language course—or rather, a course on the artistic grasp of language—taught by Dr. Steiner. We might actually have gotten a mental image of how things had always proceeded—as they sometimes do from exam to exam—with no breaks in between at all. But there were, in fact, quite substantial breaks—breaks that, even if rejected in a certain form, served to frame—I would almost say: to envelop—all the work that emerged during those days in the most loving care imaginable, which took on the broadest, broadest possible scope. Even though Count Keyserlingk rejected it, I must still ask—for it is through such questions that one arrives at the truth: How would this entire undertaking have unfolded if Koberwitz were not near Breslau, and if Countess Keyserlingk and Count Keyserlingk were not present in Koberwitz as guardians of anthroposophy and the anthroposophists? Precisely when one sets these things side by side, as I have just done—from which one can now see how, over the course of 35 years, the ability to work from the spiritual world to shape its content was able to deepen and expand—precisely then one can also appreciate what significance it holds for the development of anthroposophical life, to work for the anthroposophical movement so wholeheartedly, with such a spirit of self-sacrifice, and above all so purposefully and with such certainty—as the entire Keyserlingk family did to such an extensive degree and with such love. And I hope that Count Keyserlingk does not want us—who have witnessed the outpouring of his love—to develop a grateful love in return for this outpouring—I hope that Count Keyserlingk does not want us to walk away now with a sense of rejected, wounded love. That really is not possible. We have all felt this love with gratitude; and he must at least allow us that—he cannot take it away from us. A love that is rejected in such matters—that really is not possible.

[ 6 ] But then again, when I think of the years leading up to the age of 35, many things come to mind. For example, I think of what it is about those 35 years that marks the beginning of living and working within the anthroposophical movement. There were many things back then that one might call the “echo of the world.” In the beginning, this echo of the world wasn’t particularly strong. For those who today make this echo resound so loudly and so disharmoniously only began at a certain point in time. In the beginning, it was still the case that those who sought anthroposophy were the ones engaged with it. Those who are so strongly involved with it today—particularly in its discordant tones—weren’t there yet. When I think back to how we began. You see, Count Keyserlingk pointed out, both in his introduction and in his closing remarks, an inconvenience that really shouldn’t have been considered at all. But now, as I let the years pass before my eyes, I am reminded of a time when I was to give a public lecture in a fairly large city—the movement was at that stage back then when it was given little attention by its opponents, because people thought, well, this is just the sort of thing a few mavericks are into, it’s not worth the trouble of paying attention to it—in a fairly large city, I was to give a public lecture. I was speaking—when suddenly there was a commotion in the hall, which in itself already posed the challenge that one had to pay close attention. It wasn’t like here, nor was it like in Koberwitz; in this case, you had to be careful not to step into the many holes in the floor. I had to speak in halls like that for many years. But once it became so unnervingly restless that a commotion broke out, and there were several loud shouts. A rat had come through one of those holes. Yes, you see, it’s quite a long way from those effects of vermin [to the extent] that our friend Werbeck has recently described in such detail—in a way that’s already becoming dangerous for us. And yet this long road was paved with all sorts of very beautiful events.

[ 7 ] For you see, amid all sorts of pleasant and unpleasant experiences, as this path had to be traversed—pretty much from its anthroposophical beginnings onward— a voice from Breslau—which always came in the form of the printed word—a voice from Breslau that, so to speak, expressed itself in the most intense, insightful, and well-reasoned way on everything, from the Philosophy of Freedom to the deeply anthroposophical matters, right down to social issues. And this voice was always that of our dear friend Bartsch. And anthroposophy may say to our friend Bartsch: In him you have a friend; you will find no better one. — That is precisely what I feel the deepest need to express to you in the most heartfelt way at this deeply satisfying event. And believe me, I truly appreciate that Count Keyserlingk was able to speak of all the helpers who had to participate in a selfless and devoted manner, so that what has just taken place could come to fruition—that the anthroposophical message could be proclaimed before such a wide circle of people who are, however, so deeply devoted to anthroposophy—that everything could happen here in Breslau, that such a loyal team of helpers could be present, that the one who himself helped so purposefully could point to such a loyal team of helpers—all of this must, for the most part, be attributed here in this city to what our friend Bartsch has done for anthroposophy from this very place, in an equally purposeful manner, but also in a way that is understanding, warm, and devoted. And I believe I may be permitted to make a request, since this is the last time we will be together. You see, Anthroposophy has the task of stepping out into the world and working within it. This is, first and foremost, in all its parts and in its central institutions, that which now comes directly from the revelations of the spiritual world. That this is so is to be particularly affirmed by those impulses that have permeated anthroposophical work since the Dornach conference at Christmas. The spiritual content found there exists, I would say, only in heaven. But here on earth, it is meant to take effect. Therefore, anthroposophy truly attains its proper value only when people’s hearts respond to it. And I have indeed seen that what can now be proclaimed as the anthroposophical word—that its application to various fields should become visible—has, if it is well-founded in itself, a heavenly value; yet it possesses value here on earth in the fullest sense of the word only when it receives it through the hearts of a faithfully devoted audience. And yet I have seen how these anthroposophical words resonated with the faithful anthroposophical hearts here in this city and with those who, in part, have come from far away to attend our event. Do you believe that, precisely out of the spirit of anthroposophy, I am able to reach out—even with a special kind of gratitude—to those who wish to collaborate in what needs to be done for anthroposophy, and that I fully appreciate every nuance of this collaboration?

[ 8 ] But let us ask ourselves how this possibility could have come about if a man who is so deeply immersed in the spiritual realm with his whole heart and his whole being—as our friend Bartsch is—had not led the anthroposophical movement here, and indeed, through the stones with which the anthroposophical path was paved from here on—and stones are not always merely hard objects used to crack people’s skulls; stones are also monuments—the anthroposophical movement owes an extraordinary debt to these very stones with which its path was paved from here on. That is what, I would say, has been paved out from here into the path of the anthroposophical movement—in truly hard stone, but with words as firm as bronze. One cannot be grateful enough for this. And now, alongside this warm-hearted firmness in upholding anthroposophy—which in our friend Bartsch sometimes takes on the sharpness of a sword feared by enemies all around—there is now something that certainly does many of us a great deal of good: that gentle love has emerged—a love that combines with unwavering energy to achieve unerring results and that now radiates from the home in Koberwitz that has become so dear to us. All of this has come particularly to my attention now, as I have had to compare, through the documents of the last two nights, a period of 35 years of active work. And so, after having been met with such heartfelt words from the individual speakers this evening, let me nevertheless thank him for what has once again come to fruition in recent days—that which is happening for anthroposophy. I would now like to express to him—even if it is not the Father’s role—my heartfelt love and gratitude for what he does.

[ 9 ] And look, let me just throw away a basket right at the very end. Usually, you only get baskets for what you’ve already done. Well, I’m throwing this basket away right from the start. But this rejection—I’m setting it aside, and yet I say—and I know that some people, if not everyone in this hall, will wholeheartedly agree—when I say, we have to give thanks—serious and profound thanks—for the fact that, through the energy and loving spirit of sacrifice, through the skillful work of Count and Countess Keyserlingk and everyone who helped at Koberwitz, this Pentecost conference was able to come about solely for the deepest satisfaction of the anthroposophists. It was wonderful what was granted to us, especially that which, like a celebration and a festive atmosphere, entwined, surrounded, and permeated this Pentecost work of anthroposophy. And for all this beauty, for all this devotion, let us all express our heartfelt and sincere thanks at the end: Thank you very much for all this beauty!