In 2022, on the second day of the war, Ukrainian Serhii Kopyl (b. 1979) enlisted. He is editor-in-chief of the anthroposophical publishing house Nairi, directs the Center for Anthroposophical Education, “Brama,” in Kyiv [Центр Антропософської Освіти “Брама,” (Ukr. “gate”)], is chair of the Executive Board of the newly founded Ukrainian Anthroposophical Society, and teaches at the Steiner Pedagogical Seminar. Frode Barkved interviewed him.1
Frode Barkved: Can you tell us a little about yourself?
Serhii Kopyl: I was born in Luhansk in 1979. My mother taught Russian and Russian literature, and my father was a civil engineer. I lived there until third grade and then moved with my family to Russia in 1989 to the northern Tyumen Oblast. I finished school there, studied physics briefly at Moscow State University, and then moved to Kyiv, where I studied civil engineering like my father. After I discovered anthroposophy, I dedicated myself to the movement and have been working on anthroposophical initiatives ever since, mainly as an editor and translator.
Your mother was a Russian literature teacher, and you and your family spoke Russian in a region where it was the main language. Some people claim that one of the reasons for the war—the Russian intervention in eastern Ukraine in 2014—was that Russian speakers in that region were being discriminated against and the Russian language was being banned.
Such a claim has nothing to do with reality. The Russian language is a legacy from the days of the empire and is spoken everywhere. It’s the language that needs the least protection in Ukraine. I hear it constantly on the streets of Kyiv and even in the Ukrainian army, where, depending on the unit, it’s spoken by fifty percent of the soldiers. This is still the case today, even after twelve years of war and four years of total war, and after millions of Ukrainians have demonstrably abandoned the Russian language in response to the aggression.
What was the situation like before 2014?
Before the Russian aggression in 2014, there was no question of banning the Russian language. At that time, seventy to eighty percent of Kyiv’s residents spoke Russian, including those in the anthroposophical community, where all the books we read by Rudolf Steiner were in Russian. Back then, it was the Ukrainian language that needed protection because in many regions, especially in the east, it was very common to view the Ukrainian language with hostility and condescension. It was considered to be only for “peasants” and rather provincial. In 2012, under the pro-Russian President Viktor Yanukovych, a language law was passed that effectively granted Russian special privileges as the language of the administration. In 2014, there was a vote in parliament to repeal this controversial law. The vote on the repeal took place on February 23, 2014. The Kremlin falsely claimed that the decision to initiate the annexation of Crimea had been made on February 22. You only need to look at the medal engraved with “For the Liberation of Crimea”: it bears the date February 20. Russia began its aggression before the vote had taken place and before the so-called “oppression of the Russian-speaking population” could even have begun.
What were the consequences of the law?
The funny thing is that the repeal did not go through because Acting President Oleksandr Turchynov refused to sign. The 2012 Russification Law thus remained in force until 2018. Then the Constitutional Court declared it unconstitutional. All the talk about the “oppression of the Russian-speaking population” being the reason for Russian aggression is pure Kremlin propaganda. It resembles the alleged “oppression of the Sudeten Germans” by the Czechoslovak authorities, which Hitler used in 1938 as a justification for his invasion.
What was it like for you as a Russian speaker?
As a Russian-speaking Ukrainian, I was faced with a dilemma. The aggression took place under the pretext of “liberating the Russian-speaking population,” with claims that “Ukraine is an artificial country,” “the Ukrainian language does not exist,” “Ukrainians and Russians are one people,” and so on. The fact that we were Russian-speaking was seen at the time as a kind of proof of these claims. It became clear to me that, in such a situation, the only way I could prove that I’m Ukrainian was by switching to the Ukrainian language.
Was it difficult to switch?
My grandparents are from central Ukraine and speak Ukrainian, so I’ve spoken Ukrainian since childhood. But I wasn’t as fluent in it as I am in my native Russian. Since 2014, I’ve been one of hundreds of thousands of Russian-speaking Ukrainians who’ve decided to learn Ukrainian for reasons of self-identification and self-preservation. We have begun publishing Steiner’s books in Ukrainian and now I even spell my name with Latin letters as Serhii [instead of Cyrillic], although it used to be pronounced “Sergey” in Russian.
In the past, Ukrainian speakers learned Russian; now, Russian speakers are learning Ukrainian.
Under the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union, Ukrainians who moved from the countryside to the cities tried to switch from Ukrainian to Russian because this was seen as a sign of education and culture. Today, the opposite is true: speaking Ukrainian well and beautifully is now a sign of education and culture.
How did you first come across anthroposophy?
When I returned to Kyiv at the age of 18, I lived with my sister, who was among the first anthroposophists in Kyiv. After the stifling materialism of the Soviet era, the world of esotericism opened up to us. Anthroposophy was one of many spiritual movements that poured down like rain on parched ground. The concept of “diagnostics of karma”2 became my gateway to anthroposophy at that time. For six months, my sister and I had fierce debates about who went deeper, the author of Diagnostics of Karma or Steiner. What tipped the scales for me was the Christmas celebration in 1997 at the newly founded Waldorf kindergarten where for the first time I saw not just theory in words but living people—young, free, and open, including a Waldorf teacher from Germany. They were the first anthroposophists in Kyiv and impressed me so much that I then opened Steiner’s Theosophy. Within a few months, I’d devoured all of Steiner’s other foundational works and knew anthroposophy was my path.
Were there any topics in Steiner’s books that you were especially interested in?
From the very beginning of my journey into anthroposophy, Occult Science, an Outline (CW 13) became my great passion. Since then, one of my main interests has been how spiritual beings and angels work through evolution in our world and within/with us—not from a theoretical perspective, but rather, how can I experience and feel this in ordinary life, behind everyday events, using qualitative (i.e., Goethean) thinking?
Some anthroposophists like to use Steiner’s concept of the folk spirit to “understand” modern-day Russia. You describe “the Russian folk soul” as “peaceful” and attribute to it the ability to experience “the spiritual in its purity.” How do you feel about such statements?
In today’s Ukraine, talk of the “peaceful nature of the Russian soul” comes across as if someone in 1942 were quoting Steiner about the greatness of the German folk spirit and thereby justifying the actions of the Third Reich—especially since we already have such a striking example from the years 1917 to 1991 provided by the Russian people themselves!
To free themselves from the darkness of the twelve years of the Third Reich, the Germans endured occupation, denazification, and decades of repentance. To me, it remains a riddle why so many Europeans believe that in 1991 the Russians immediately freed themselves from the darkness of 72 years (three generations!) under the Soviet Union without undergoing decommunization and deimperialization.
Are we seeing the Soviet Union trying to make a comeback today?
Of course. But the problem runs deeper. I consider it scientifically dishonest to take Steiner’s quotes about the “Russian soul” and draw conclusions from them about “Russia” as a country. Steiner said something entirely different about the Russian state and “Russism” as a political ideology and explicitly stated that the Russian state embodies the opposite of what lives in the soul of the people. As an idea, this form of state goes back to the Mongol invasion. The Soviet Union is merely the darkest and bloodiest “incarnation” of this idea of a state that has been weighing on the Russian people like a parasite for 800 years. That’s why in Ukraine today we say, “Just like in the 13th century, Kyiv is again repelling the hordes from the East.”
Is the problem only with the Kremlin and its aggressive state ideology, while ordinary Russians, as representatives of the folk soul, still retain their “peaceful” nature?
I also thought this could only be madness on the part of the country’s rulers and that ordinary Russians would naturally oppose such a betrayal and take to the streets by the millions to protest. When Crimea was annexed, I realized not only that “international organizations” are powerless, but also that Russian society is completely powerless. There were no mass protests against it. On the contrary, Russians cheered in droves! Unfortunately, the majority of Russian anthroposophists were among them. Even Russian Waldorf teachers began to say, “I am a small person and do not understand all the complexities of geopolitics, so perhaps what Russia is doing now in Crimea and the Donbass is right from the state’s perspective.” “Peacefulness” turned out to be submission and the paralysis of any will to protest in the face of the Russian state’s megalomania.
Weren’t there exceptions?
Not as many as we had hoped, but still, many free-thinking Russians who did not want a return to the Soviet Union took part in the Revolution of Dignity; many of them bravely wore yellow and blue ribbons in Moscow and St. Petersburg as a sign of solidarity with the Ukrainians. When journalists asked them why they were wearing the Ukrainian flag in Russia, they replied, “For us, it is no longer just the flag of Ukraine but the flag of freedom.” Starting in 2022, we must also remember the heroic Russians who are now fighting in the ranks of the Ukrainian armed forces for the freedom of the Russian people against the Russian state—the Russian Volunteer Corps and the Freedom Legion of Russia.
The Russian authorities claimed that the revolution was a coup d’état orchestrated by the West.
Of course, all authoritarian rulers label protests against authoritarianism as interference and a charade orchestrated by “external enemies.” Perhaps they truly believe this. I can even understand why Russians, who are themselves unable to protest and are paralyzed by the Kremlin’s Leviathan, might also believe this. But how can free Europeans repeat it? After all, it’s not hard to know the difference—because there are indeed “staged” demonstrations, and we saw them often before the revolution in Ukraine. People were gathered together and paid by the authorities. Their eyes look dulled because they aren’t there of their own free will. But everyone who was on the Maidan during the revolution saw a completely different image! There was light and fire in their eyes, creativity and willpower, and something that is very Ukrainian—humor. All of this is an undeniable sign of freedom. We were all there of our own free will—and I remember the moment—shortly after the first protesters had been killed—when I left my house again to go to Maidan: looked at myself in the mirror, and heard a voice inside me ask, “What if you die?” And from the depths of my soul came the answer, “Then I am ready to sacrifice my life for the freedom of Ukraine!”
But where did that mood come from?
Just imagine: free people embracing one another, holding the Ukrainian flag in their hands and singing the Ukrainian national anthem, while police officers in black gear beat them until they bleed, tear down the flag, and trample it underfoot.
I see this and feel a rage I have never known before rising up within me. Do you remember what Steiner says in his lecture “The Mission of Anger”? “A loving hand is rarely a hand that has never been clenched in the face of injustice or stupidity” (CW 58). Such bloody violence on the part of the state we have seen only in Russia and the Soviet Union to this day; nothing comparable has happened in Ukraine since its independence. Together with the official justification for rejecting EU association under external pressure from Russia and with the image of the Ukrainian flag under the perpetrators’ feet, the pieces came together to form a terrifying picture of threat: They want to drag us back into the Soviet Union! The next day—instead of thousands of followers wanting association—millions of people poured into Maidan Square, because it was no longer about association but about the danger of a return to the lawless times of dictatorship. It was this event that transformed what we call “Euromaidan” into the Revolution of Dignity.
It’s interesting that in the book by Swiss anthroposophist Thomas Mayer, Wahrheitssuche im Ukraine-Krieg: Um was es wirklich geht [The search for truth in the Ukraine war: What it’s really about],3 which is full of Russian propaganda, there is not one single word about this bloody incident on November 30! In the 600-page book, there is not a single line about the decisive event that caused millions of Ukrainians to clench their fists!
What motivated you to fight to defend Ukraine?
It was a continuation of the same spirit that had emerged during the Revolution of Dignity on the Maidan. The spirit back then was characterized by a kind of self-organization of consciousness. In 2014, this led many volunteers from the Maidan directly to the front lines, driven by a strong wish to stand up for their country. Many felt that this was now necessary at a time when the regular Ukrainian army and the state—which had been destroyed by passivity and complacency—were awakening and finding their footing. Since then, Ukrainians have said that in this war, “a strong Russian state and a weak Russian civil society are fighting against a strong Ukrainian civil society with a weak Ukrainian state.” Volunteer work has become the very essence of Ukrainian social life.
You were in the middle of your thirties—did you want to fight for your country, too?
No, in 2014 I didn’t want to take up arms and go to the front. Like many of my friends in Kyiv, I was convinced that my anthroposophical mission was to further develop social consciousness in the country and support volunteers on the home front and that I would only take up arms as a last resort—if Ukraine’s very existence as a country was threatened, for example, and the invading forces were marching on Kyiv, the heart of the nation. And on February 24, 2022, that was exactly what happened. On the second day of the war, I enlisted.
What impressed you the most during your time in the army?
One of the most special experiences was the sense of closeness to the spiritual world. This manifested itself, among other things, through incredible coincidences and encounters between people who had been torn from their usual karmic context and would hardly have met each other in their “normal” lives. Interestingly, such coincidences could also affect people who were not directly on the front lines. While I was lying wounded in the hospital, I received greetings and sympathies in the form of drawings from the children of a first-grade class at the Yavir Waldorf School in Kyiv, where I’d worked. The teacher told them not to draw anything related to the war, but one of them, Viktor, did so anyway. A month or two later, a video of the battle in which I was wounded appeared online (at the start of the war in 2022, such videos were still rare). I saw that Viktor had drawn exactly the scene that appeared in the video later on. He had even written my name (“Mr. Serhii”)—right where I jumped out of the vehicle and went into battle. Seeing that was like a borderline experience for me, where you sense the presence of the spiritual world through what your eyes see. Another one happened through my ears.
Can you describe that?
After several battles in which I was exposed to targeted artillery fire, I had grown accustomed to the feeling that some kind of immense, non-human force was raging all around me but never striking me; it felt as if someone were protecting me. But then there was a shot that stood out from the rest. We were under heavy artillery fire; I pressed myself to the ground and covered my head with my hands. Then I heard another distant cannon shot and knew that a shell was coming our way—but this time I suddenly had the feeling that time was passing more slowly, my heart was beating harder and faster, and blood rushed to my face. In that moment when time seemed to slow down, a voice resounded within me—something that came from my conscience or higher self, which seems to speak to us from the very depths of the soul. I “heard” the words, “Well, are you ready?” And in the next instant—an explosion, a violent blow, and intense pain, as if a giant had pressed me to the ground with his metal boot. It was a serious injury that I survived by some kind of miracle. But the memory of that voice later assured me that everything was exactly as it was meant to be. I am certain that thousands of people have experienced and are experiencing something similar at this very moment.
Did the soldiers share stories of these kinds of experiences with each other?
Yes. A seriously injured soldier said that the moment his leg was torn off, his entire life flashed before his eyes—from beginning to end.
According to Steiner, this is what happens during a shock when the etheric body separates from the physical body.
In anthroposophical circles, I have heard time and again that we are living in an age of inner, not outer, struggles. Humanity’s task is no longer to wage physical wars but to declare war on its own weaknesses and other dragons within the soul. This distinction between inner and outer struggle is likely driven by the caricature of a fighting soldier as a kind of soulless mechanism with bloodshot eyes, ready to carry out orders automatically and blindly. In my life during more peaceful times, I never experienced inner struggles comparable in strength and intensity to the inner struggles I went through on the front lines. Nor have I ever experienced such strong passions and instincts that had to be restrained and fought against. Since the Maidan event (actually, for several hundred years, but that would be going too far now), the Ukrainian army has been shaped and permeated by the spirit of volunteerism and the individual’s consciousness of purpose. If a person is not ready and does not want to go into battle, it is impossible to force them to do so. Perhaps this is a certain weakness of the Ukrainian army, but at the same time it is also a strength, for it is an army of living people, not automatons.
Can you give an example of an inner struggle?
Yes. In that same combat situation, just before I was wounded, we were lying flat on the ground because of the artillery fire. My brother-in-arms was lying ten meters in front of me and suddenly I saw a mine explode right where he was lying. From the darkest depths of my soul, a thought flashed through my mind: “That’s it, he’s dead—run away from here fast!” Only in the next moment did my mind take control and say, “How can I run away? What if he’s alive and injured? I have to help him.” I overcame my instinctive fear, crawled over to him, and called out, “How are you? Are you alive?” And then he lifted his head and gave a thumbs-up—“Everything’s fine!” A miracle.
As I said, soldiers on the front lines have to constantly win these small—as an anthroposophist might say—”Michaelic” victories over the dragons within their own souls. And, ultimately, it’s this inner steadfastness that brings victory—not physical weapons alone, but without weapons, relying only on prayers and meditation won’t work either.
It’s clear that war has a profound effect on people.
Yes, and in a positive sense, both for everyday life and for the future. Soldiers on the front lines have very few personal belongings—just enough to fit into a small backpack. During combat, I take the backpack off so that I can move around more easily, but afterward, as we begin our retreat back to our positions, I put it back on. But since that seemed so insignificant compared to the fact that I had survived the battle and was still alive, I left it there!—with all my belongings. After I’d been wounded, I actually awoke in the hospital after the operation like some kind of Adam—all my clothes, which were soaked in blood, had also been thrown away, and all that remained of my personal belongings were my military ID, my phone, and a small wooden cross that I always carried with me. It was a good thing they were all in a waterproof pouch in my pants pocket.
It was like being reborn?
Yes, “Omnia mea mecum porto,” “Everything I own, I carry with me.” And this quality of not being overly dependent on material things is something all Ukrainians are currently experiencing on a massive scale, including civilians who know that Russian missiles could take away all their possessions at any moment and that every morning they might wake up like Adam, if God wills it and they survive. Ukrainian refugees have experienced something similar. And I believe that, from a spiritual and Christian perspective, this is something very important for the future.
That must be why it’s so painful for you to hear anthroposophists outside Ukraine claim that the Ukrainian struggle is just a proxy war, with Ukrainians portrayed as pawns in a conflict that’s actually taking place between the West and Russia.
The pro-Empire anthroposophists I mentioned were silenced less by the words of other anthroposophists than by the reality on the ground. I could also argue at length about how Ukraine and the Ukrainian language do actually exist, that they’re not part of the Russian people, that they have their own identity—but four years of desperate resistance against aggression prove this far better. I could have argued long and hard that Ukraine is not a puppet of the U.S.—but a single conversation in February 2025 in the Oval Office and all the negotiations throughout 2025 proved this much better. Suddenly, it turned out that the “puppet masters” cannot force their “puppet” to surrender. The facts are very simple: It was Russia, not Ukraine or the West, that literally broke every bilateral agreement between the countries that had been officially signed over the past thirty years; it was not mythical verbal promises allegedly made by Gorbachev as the leader of another country in a different historical situation regarding an entirely different issue, but written documents signed, among others, by Putin himself. It was Russian, not Ukrainian or Western, troops that crossed the border between the countries. What qualities of my soul lead to such a strange view where I begin to justify aggression and dictatorship using “an anthroposophical perspective”? The way I see it, first and foremost, I’m a human being, then a Christian, and only then an anthroposophist. If my supposed “anthroposophical” viewpoint justifies anti-Christian and inhuman acts, I must carefully examine whether I have understood anthroposophy correctly.
Do you have any experience or insights in this regard?
It seems that this mindset—which sees nothing but “puppeteers” and “marionettes” everywhere—is the theosophical stream within the anthroposophical movement. When “theos” is more important than “anthropos,” when, from on top of the mountain, I no longer distinguish between individual people (Steiner’s image from CW 45). Because of materialism, this “theosophy” runs the risk of degenerating into pure “conspirasophy” today. This also leads to a certain arrogance, which thinks that it’s together in spirit with Steiner. If Steiner could speak about the destiny and tasks of entire countries without being physically present in them, then Thomas Mayer can easily write a 600-page book about Ukraine without ever having been here and without even contacting Ukrainian anthroposophists to ask how they experience all of this.
Out of touch with reality?
Exactly. That’s why it’s important for me to say that we are very grateful to the anthroposophists and to everyone else around the world who see us, who see people in need, and who is willing to help us. Even if it’s not on the physical front lines of the army, it’s still on the front line of ideas by calling things by their proper names. That helps a lot. Thank you very much for that, friends!
I recently read an article in the journal Republik where a non-anthroposophical researcher (Jonas Frey) wrote, “Russia divides anthroposophy.”4
Perhaps it is some consolation to say that this division is not only affecting anthroposophy. From what I’ve heard, Ukrainian Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Jews, even feminists, and so on, are all experiencing something similar: many of their “brothers” and “sisters” from other countries, especially from Western Europe, don’t understand them and suddenly show sympathy and affection for the Kremlin’s policies. Perhaps it’s also the same gesture: either one has fled the world to the mountaintop and judges from there (this is perhaps most easy for those involved with spiritual movements) and sees only rulers and secret lodges, or one has the courage to be here, close by, and to see the souls of people.
Apart from the war, what are the challenges facing Ukrainian society?
The division among people. This division is evident in several areas: between those who have left and those who have stayed, those on the front lines and those in the rear, and so on. With women and children fleeing abroad, many families have been torn apart, and this has been going on for a long time now. Since personal freedom and independence are deeply rooted in the Ukrainian mindset, the Russians have always tried to influence these traits, to reinforce them, and to sow discord in society in every conceivable way—for centuries. A hundred years ago, this led in only a few years to the collapse of the newly founded Ukrainian state and to the atrocities of Soviet rule. Since 2014, they have been trying to do the same with an especially powerful force. The 2019 elections were a depressing division of society and, for many of us, a tragedy.
Was that when Zelenskyy became president?
Neither I nor most of my friends voted for him because we viewed him as a populist who had come to power by spreading blatant lies about his predecessor without any experience in leading the country. It wasn’t the first time Ukraine had experienced such upheavals. After the first Maidan in 2004, which was led by an active minority within civil society, the oligarchic media, with Russia’s help, did everything they could to ensure that Yushchenko, a pro-Ukrainian president, lost popularity, and in the next election, the majority once again elected a pro-Russian president. It looks like birth pangs as the country moves more and more toward Europe with every such crisis as more and more post-Soviet people free themselves from the Bolshevik shackles deep within their spirit. And also from the illusion of “brotherhood” with Russia.
As far as I recall, Zelenskyy came to power promising to reach a swift peace agreement with Russia.
Yes, “talking and meeting somewhere in the middle.” Just like another populist leader today, on the other side of the ocean. . . . An obvious illusion that the majority of voters believed in. But I remember that I myself had a similar illusion about Russia’s peaceful gesture up until 2014. Maidan, Crimea, and the Donbas were enough to dispel it.
It must be said that the Kremlin interpreted the results of the 2019 elections in its own way: as an expression of the wish of the majority of Ukrainians to reunite with Russia. When Zelenskyy refused to yield to Russian demands in Paris in December 2019 and after, they were convinced that he’d abandoned his voters and sided with the “Maidanites.” When the Kremlin launched its aggression in 2022, it evidently believed there would be virtually no resistance and that the Ukrainian army would lay down its arms and defect to “brotherly Russia,” just as the Afghan army had done toward the Taliban in 2021. You may know that ceremonial uniforms were found in the captured Russian equipment that was on its way to Kyiv in early 2022. The Russians were actually preparing to march into Kyiv as liberators and parade down Khreshchatyk Street, with the majority of Ukrainians welcoming them.
So, the Kremlin had its own illusion?
And the Europeans and Americans, who apparently also expected Ukraine to fall. 2022 became a year of awakening for everyone—for the world’s politicians, for the Kremlin and the Russian people, and for Zelenskyy and his voters. What a fantastic year! Yet so painful, as perhaps all awakenings are.
So, you’ve been supporting Zelenskyy ever since?
As the president of my country, which is fighting against an aggressor—yes. He projects a positive image for the country. It’s also good that, during the war, we have a relatively young, dark-eyed, strong, and hot-tempered man leading the way.
Within Ukraine, it is certainly somewhat taboo to criticize him during the war. As far as internal Ukrainian affairs are concerned, however, we are monitoring the situation very closely. This type of hot-headed “Napoleon” tends to become a dictator himself, and that’s exactly what we’re fighting against on the front lines. He follows public opinion. And please, learn from our mistakes! If the Kremlin says he wants to restore the Soviet Union and reach Berlin or even the English Channel again, then believe it—don’t try to “talk to it and meet somewhere in the middle”!
What is the current state of the anthroposophical movement in Ukraine?
I once dabbled in beekeeping, so the image of Ukraine in the first months and years of the war reminds me of a beehive from which someone is trying to steal honey: the bee colony has been thrown into chaos, but it’s trying to quickly restore order, repair the destroyed combs, redistribute tasks, and so on. Something similar happened with anthroposophical initiatives—despite the social chaos, people stayed in touch and supported one another in their initiatives. Surprisingly, the COVID-19 period served as a kind of preparation, teaching people to work online, which was a great help during the war. Some initiatives therefore switched entirely to online work, such as the Steiner Pedagogy Seminar in Kyiv. Initiatives in frontline cities like Kharkiv and Zaporizhzhia were also forced to switch entirely to online work or to gather in private homes, as they had in the early years of their founding in the 1990s. The teachers at Ukraine’s largest Waldorf school, Sophia in Kyiv, told me that they felt as if they had been transported back to the pioneering days, since at the start of the war they had lost half of the teachers and two-thirds of the students along with their families. At the largest Waldorf daycare center, half the classrooms are also empty—fully equipped with all the Waldorf toys and materials, but without people. It is like pruning trees or grapevines: the plant has become smaller, but the roots are strong and ready to sprout as soon as conditions change. Or a strong new shoot appears in the distance—for example, a new, vibrant center with a school, kindergarten, and new social initiatives have developed in the western Ukrainian town of Horodenka; many people from other regions of Ukraine have moved there.
Were there any initiatives that were forced to close?
Yes, unfortunately, including the large Yavir School. But many of the students transferred to other Waldorf schools, and many of the teachers joined other initiatives, for example, trauma education (emergency education), which is so much in need today. Over the years, many people have returned to Ukraine, so that virtually all anthroposophical movements have survived and continue to develop under new conditions: Waldorf schools and kindergartens, special needs education, biodynamic farms, a medical center and practicing physicians, etc. The Christian community in Kyiv and Odessa has become a refuge for encounters between people and initiatives, as has always been the case with churches in times of war. And the eurythmists also came together as a group and prepared a beautiful performance for the founding assembly of the national Ukrainian Anthroposophical Society.
What tasks lie ahead for the Anthroposophical Society in Ukraine?
Since the start of the Russian aggression, we have held nationwide meetings in various cities. Today, the most important task of the Anthroposophical Society is to shed light on anthroposophical work in various cities in order to ultimately gather information about all initiatives, events, and potential needs. Another task is to manage the translations of Steiner’s works into Ukrainian. This also includes the creation of new terms and concepts, etcetera. Anthroposophy in its Ukrainian form is perceived quite differently than in Russian.
Which anthroposophical topics do you consider to be the most important?
When the war broke out, several groups began to study The Mission of Folk Souls (CW 121). Another topic we’re focusing on more and more is social threefolding. This, of course, makes sense in a time of such social upheaval.
Do you see your work in an East Slavic country as connected to Rudolf Steiner’s image of a future “Russian or Slavic cultural epoch”?
I don’t want to think along those lines. The world is in a state of flux; let’s leave the prophecies as open questions. It’s the task of the entire anthroposophical movement, regardless of nationality, to prepare for the coming epoch.
We simply want to survive, in some modest way, become part of the European family, and continue to work with spiritual science on our own soil as an equal people among equals. With this hope, we look to the future; then we will see what lies ahead.
—Asked if he is struggling with trauma, Serhii replies—
This question is not easy for me to answer personally, since I haven’t noticed anything in my soul so intense that it could be described as trauma, though certainly they are profound soul experiences. Perhaps it’s due to my anthroposophical training. What I can say about this question is this: when it comes to soul rather than bodily trauma, it’s not so easy to understand, or even to know it’s there; it may only be possible when it manifests in external, physical, or physiological signs. For example, for the first two nights after the outbreak of the Great War (the full-scale war in February 2022,) I was so upset that I didn’t sleep at all. It wasn’t until the third day, after I’d joined the ranks of the army and received my uniform and rifle, that I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep in the barracks among my new comrades. It seems that accepting one’s own destiny, supported by action, is a form of healing.
Today, I’m not the only one with the strange feeling that, in the fifth year of the war, what is being heard all the more loudly from Ukraine toward the rest of the world is no longer the anguished cry of a traumatized victim but a sense of confidence that draws strength from accepting one’s own destiny and acting in accordance with it.
Translation Joshua Kelberman
Footnotes
- Abridged version of the interview with Frode Barkved from the Norwegian journal of anthroposophy. Frode Barkved, “Intervju med Serhij Kopyl,” LIBRA 54 (Jan. 2026).
- Kopyl refers to Sergey Nikolayevich Lazarev, a Russian psychologist, philosopher, and author, and his book series Diagnostics of Karma; see, e.g., Sergey Lazarev, Diagnostics of Karma (n.p.: self-published, 2024).
- Thomas Mayer, Wahrheitssuche im Ukraine-Krieg: Um was es wirklich geht (Saarbrücken: Neue Erde, 2023). Author Thomas Mayer should not be confused with Thomas (T. H.) Meyer, editor of Der Europäer.
- Jonas Frey, “Russland spaltet die Anthroposophie” [Russia divides anthroposophy], Republik (Dec. 30, 2025).
