Fiction writers sometimes use a rhetorical device called “free indirect speech.” Andreas Laudert makes use of this technique to get closer to Rudolf Steiner.
We use the term “free indirect speech” when an author narrates past events in the third person but retains characteristics of the first person to express the character’s own thoughts and inner experiences; it’s somewhere between a report and a soliloquy. The past is experienced anew in the present. But, there’s a deeper meaning in this for us. When Rudolf Steiner spoke, he wasn’t speaking about something but rather from something. If we don’t bring to life what we hear from him within ourselves, we won’t fully understand it. We all have the potential to put ourselves into the experience of someone else, as if we were that person, but only when we accept that person fully, truly take them seriously as they are, and exercise caution in assessing how well we’ve been able to immerse ourselves in their experience without being deceived by our own bias.
When we attempt to do this with Rudolf Steiner, a question arises: What if we encountered what he did? When we examine how we would act if we had to bear within our soul all that he did, we begin to enter into an entirely different relationship with him—we begin to spiritually understand his cause as our own. This is not a way of bringing Steiner down to our level, but, on the contrary, we begin to reach toward the greatness of his task. Certainly, there’s a limit to our being able to put ourselves in his or anybody else’s shoes, especially when we try to understand someone’s experience of a specific event, for instance, when Rudolf Steiner nearly fell off the scaffolding in 1916, and Edith Maryon had the presence of mind to act immediately, saving his life. But it’s precisely when we bump up against this limit that something can open up for us: something tender, connecting, and cosmic. In our own struggles and work, no matter if we fail or succeed, we are also dependent upon the world recognizing our being and on someone being there, anticipating our struggle. In some situations, failure actually lies in success, and in others, success lies in failure. It’s a kind of balancing act, a struggle for equilibrium between highs and lows, self and other…
He felt himself falling; he’d lost his balance. All time became this moment. He suddenly felt himself as nothing but pure human weakness. A body with limbs that wouldn’t obey his impulses. A master no longer able to master a step. A savior in need of being saved. (But, at the same time, how free he felt in his clumsiness!) A sensation shot through his mind. A sense of destiny enveloped him like a sheath. Memories stretched far back in time; for a moment, he wavered in eternity. How many lectures had he given on the importance of balance for the human being? How many lecterns had he stood behind, upright and speaking on proper balance? The wooden sculpture itself, which they’d worked on and carved together, almost as siblings, the sculpture that now set the circumstance of his fall; this sculpture had balance as its very center: the figure of Christ-Jesus calmly striding between the extremes, taking a wide awake step.
As he fell, he thought: Her. She possessed the finesse and tact for instantly grasping what was needed in a situation and what was to happen. Her hands knew how to sculpt the future in wood, in stone, in material. For a moment, his death hung in the air—for seconds… She must have been with him in spirit as he stood on the scaffolding; she was working down below. He was already with her in spirit as she immediately dropped her tools in panic—her silent cry—rushing in, rushing like an angel… Was there not some fresco with such an image? He couldn’t think of the name… How she caught him, no one would need to know. Caught by his friend, a woman, an artist with seeing hands. It was no accident that she, of all people, held him now, that he returned from his thoughts, and found himself in her arms. In the smell of a work coat. The look in her eyes, infinite relief. Were there tears? In a split second, she set him on his feet again. Oh, but she needn’t look away…! What a treat for the gossipers! How could the master himself have fallen? Did he not foresee such a moment? People did secretly think such things. Everyday voyeurs imagining what it sounded like if he ever screamed for help. Gawkers wanting to see the high and mighty humbled, feasting on the falls and accidents of others. They knew nothing of life.
How wonderful it is to lose your balance if only to be able to regain it. Not to have it always and forever. Everything is a balancing act: destiny, freedom, existence. Survival? Being a model of balance! That’s what it means to be an anthroposophist! If the accident had happened in public, he’d have had to put up with such wild thoughts behind closed doors. Surely… The way they’d looked at each other in total shock. How now they both paused. He brushed a strand of black hair from his forehead, the one that always fell there during lectures. He was probably pale from the shock—oh, and she, too. Now, the warm, serious pressure of their hands clasped together. They both thanked each other, she thanked him, too. In her eyes, he read now—how adroitly he’d fallen. How she was able to hear the call and be there… They could laugh now. Free. Now, they could go on.
This year we bring you a series of articles titled “Rudolf Steiner as…” to honor the 100th anniversary of Rudolf Steiner’s death—sometimes an essay, sometimes simply a thought or reflection—always, an aspect of his being.
Translation Joshua Kelberman
