The Rudolf Steiner Archive

First Lecture

[ 1 ] In the coming days, I will attempt to continue my reflections on the relationship between human beings and the entire universe by extending them to another, more general realm, and by setting myself the task of discussing, from a specific perspective, the forces at work in human development—and particularly in the development of the present. To do so, I need today what might be called a historical introduction—though one based on the perspectives that arise from spiritual science. We have, after all, often emphasized to what extent the conventional historical perspective is actually a “fable convenue,” and how only from the starting points of spiritual scientific observation can clarification and light be shed on the historical development of humanity. We know, after all, that when we view evolution on a grand scale, we must always perceive, within the processes unfolding in the present, remnants of the past. As we have seen, we call these remnants of the past “Luciferic” or “Ahrimanic,” depending on whether they pertain to this or that being—a point we also alluded to in our most recent reflections. But it is only when one considers, in connection with things that are quite close at hand—things whose effects can be observed directly in one’s surroundings—both what has been left behind and what is progressing in the proper course, that one arrives at a completely concrete understanding.

[ 2 ] That is why today I would like to first direct your attention back to the Greco-Latin era—that is, to the fourth post-Atlantean period—and share some insights that may help you understand how this Greco-Latin era continues to influence our time, how, in a sense, the forces of this Greco- -Latin era are still at work, how they are, in a certain sense, right here among us—so that we may understand how people today can find their bearings in the face of the influences of evolution, in which we are, of course, always immersed. For it is only by finding one’s bearings that one is human in the true sense of the word, that one is capable, in the true sense of the word, of understanding what one must do—even in every single moment of life—as the right thing. However, when it comes to concrete questions of the kind to be discussed today, I find myself in a peculiar situation at present, since the possibility of misunderstanding—and in most cases even of willful, deliberate misunderstanding—has indeed become so evident. In roughly the same quarter, I was labeled by one side as a rabid Pan-Germanist, while the other side claimed that I understood nothing of true Germanness and, in fact, felt only Romanic elements within me as driving forces and could understand only Romanic elements. When one is understood in this way, it is understandable that one senses something of the difficulty of understanding and communication, and one can then do nothing else but say what one has recognized as true, without paying any attention to one side or the other, when it comes to formulating the truth itself.

[ 3 ] Let us, then, turn our gaze back to the Greco-Roman period—to this era that shines upon us, first and foremost, through all that remains of Greek civilization, and through all that has become ingrained in the present from Roman civilization. Let us bring to mind what one might perceive as the Greek essence—this Greek essence that time and again stirs the longing of so many distinguished souls, into which so many seek to immerse themselves time and again. Everyone is surely familiar with some aspects of the Greek spirit, whether from history or from the many other monuments that stand as testaments to it. On the one hand, there is what is written about this Greek spirit in history books. These history books often recount what might be called the Greek exploits, as well as some aspects of Greek social institutions. The narrative often begins with the Trojan War; it proceeds through the later periods of Greek civilization, to the Persian Wars, and on to even later periods of Greek civilization, such as the Peloponnesian War, and so on, until the downfall of Greek civilization at the hands of the Romans. But all of this, I would say, is merely one chapter in the great book of the world that speaks to us of the Greek spirit. Another chapter is everything we have frequently touched upon from one perspective or another in our reflections—what we find in the songs of Homer, in the plays of Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides—insofar as they have come down to us—what we find in the poems of the great Pindar and in the memories of the great world of Greek art, and what we have in the legacy of Greek philosophy.

[ 4 ] This is, I would say, the other chapter—a chapter from which speaks to us an infinite wealth of human experiences, human sensations and feelings, human perspectives, an infinite wealth of ideas about the structure of the world. And woven into all of this, outshining and outradiating it, so to speak, are the Greek myths and legends of the gods—which we have heard so often—and which express in a wonderfully vivid and pictorial way what the Greeks were able to perceive regarding the mysteries of the universe. Some aspects of the Greek mystery tradition have also touched our souls. And all of this belongs precisely to this other chapter of Greek culture—the chapter that must be of far greater interest to anyone who wishes to look up toward the spiritual realm than the first chapter. And when we speak today of what the Greeks mean to us, we must naturally focus much more on this second chapter than on the first, which can, after all, only give us an account of the fleeting deeds from which the heroes’ fame perhaps speaks, but which have left behind so little of what still holds any significance today for the human soul, whereas everything that speaks to us from the second chapter of Greek civilization can still come alive today for the person who so desires, by allowing themselves to enter into the inspiring, creative aspect of this Greek civilization. In this way, we can place one aspect of the Greco-Latin era before our souls.

[ 5 ] Then we see how this Greek culture is rushing ever closer to its maturity, particularly in the spiritual realms. It is a marvelous sight to behold if one truly wishes to trace it in detail and with due care. One need only, so to speak, take the essence of spiritual life; one need only take Greek philosophy as it emerges from the great ancient philosophers whom Nietzsche called “the tragic age of the Greeks”: Thales, Anaximander, Heraclitus, Parmenides, and Anaxagoras. We then turn our gaze to the one who, in a marvelous way, ushered in a new age—Socrates—and finally to the one who, building on Socrates, elevated humanity in an unprecedented way to spiritual ideals and spiritual, idealistic conceptions: Plato. Then we encounter the one who, despite everything humanity later conceived, had already formulated the most comprehensive and most penetrating concepts—Aristotle, who grasped these concepts so powerfully that centuries and centuries later, people still had to reflect on what Aristotle had thought, and that our thinking about the external world is still far from being able to fully account for all of Aristotle’s concepts. It was only later, in his *Faust*, that Goethe introduced: “Faust’s Immortality”; initially, his manuscript read: “Faust’s Entelechy”—entelechy, this Aristotelian concept, which expresses the human soul passing through the gate of death in a far more intimate way than even the word “immortality,” which is a negative term, whereas entelechy is a positive one. But Goethe himself must have sensed, when he wrote, “Faust’s entelechy is carried heavenward by the angels”—that modern humanity has little concrete image of what the term “entelechy” signifies; hence he then substituted the more common expression “Faust’s immortality.” But he sensed something of the depth of the concept of entelechy. This concept, and many others, have not yet been fully grasped, because Greek civilization, as it approached its maturity, truly refined these concepts with great subtlety and drew them from reality, and humanity in the fifth post-Atlantean epoch—and even at the beginning of this epoch in the early Middle Ages—had far too much to do with understanding coarser concepts pertaining to external material reality, and was initially unable to properly bring the finer concepts—which, in the sense of Aristotle, connect external material reality with spiritual reality—before the soul at all.

[ 6 ] Thus we see something marvelous unfolding throughout Greek cultural life. And as this Greek cultural life approaches maturity, as Greek civilization advances further and further—one might say, becoming overripe in certain aspects—it is, so to speak, conquered, externally overcome by Roman civilization. It is a remarkable process, the way in which Greek civilization is, as they say, overcome by Roman civilization. And in these two cultural currents—Greek civilization and Roman civilization—we find the elements that constitute the fourth post-Atlantean epoch, so that an understanding of these two cultural currents can, externally and exoterically, shed light on what is working and weaving inwardly within this fourth post-Atlantean epoch. Greek culture is thus subjugated externally by Roman culture; it is subjugated in such a way that the entire process now unfolding between Greek and Roman culture presents us with one of the most fascinating facts in world history.

[ 7 ] First, Roman culture. Unlike Greek culture, Roman culture stands in relation to the present. There are many souls who seek Greek culture; but one must seek it out—one must, so to speak, always first draw it forth from a gray depth of the spirit. This is not the case with Roman culture. Roman culture lives on in our entire European present—and continues to live—in a much stronger way than is generally believed. We need only consider how long, in fact, all thought among the European peoples—the peoples participating in European culture—was conducted in the Latin language. We need only consider the significance that the Latin language—that is, Roman culture as it has crystallized down to our own day—still holds for those who are preparing today for positions of leadership; how much of our ideas, feelings, and spiritual dispositions is directly drawn from Roman culture! An infinite amount of thought is conceived in the style of Roman culture. Legal thought, for the most part, is conceived solely in the Roman style. But many other concepts today are also shaped in such a way that they are formed in the Roman style. And it is precisely those who are preparing for leadership positions who must undergo an education and training that enables them to absorb, through the Roman-Latin language, a great wealth of sensibilities from this world—so that our public life is permeated everywhere by concepts derived from the Roman-Latin essence, far more so than the individual realizes. The farmer may grumble against this Latin essence, but in the end he accepts it; after all, he even allows the Mass to be celebrated in Latin. And how long has it been since the European peoples rebelled against the excess of influences emanating from the Latin essence, from the Roman-Latin essence? This Roman-Latin essence penetrates right down to the very blood of those who are preparing for positions of leadership. And what the upper echelons of European society think with regard to history, politics, law, and even administration is permeated to a high degree by the Roman-Latin essence—not merely in name, but in their very way of thinking. Thus, unlike their relationship to Greek culture, Europeans relate to the Roman-Latin essence—to the other current, the second current of the fourth post-Atlantean epoch.

[ 8 ] And now let us compare Roman civilization with Greek civilization, as one must if one truly wishes to understand. Given the facts of recent historical development—if I count Greek and Roman cultures as part of that recent history—it is hard to imagine stronger contrasts, despite all other contrasts in the realm of the spirit, than those between Greek and Roman cultures. Greek civilization—though this is not strictly speaking accurate, but using a contemporary expression that is understood today—as it appears to us from a certain distance, is entirely steeped in imagination and an artistic-philosophical essence, entirely radiant in form and inner meaning, entirely expressive of soul and spirit. Roman culture, on the other hand—none of this is inherent in its very nature; none of what, when one considers Greek culture in and of itself, constitutes its profound significance. The Romans, a people—as a people—without imagination, without that sense of awe at the immediate, cosmic nature of human life in which all Greek spiritual life was immersed. The incredibly free life of the Greeks—even though slavery was widespread in Greece, Greek life as a folk culture displays freedom in an unprecedented way—that free Greek life subjugated by Roman culture, subjugated by a culture that is purely legalistic, devoid of imagination; militaristic, devoid of imagination; and political, devoid of imagination! Those who themselves love Roman civilization in more recent times, but who know it and speak from knowledge rather than ignorance, know that Roman civilization was in no way original, neither in the realm of science nor in the realm of art. Having adopted it from Greece, Roman civilization—after it had overcome Greek civilization politically and militarily—took what was alive in Greek civilization in terms of art and science. And even the greatest Roman poets are, compared to the intellectual grandeur of Greek art and Greek poetry, really nothing more than imitators, mere imitators.

[ 9 ] And now this Roman character comes into its own in entirely different areas. It comes into its own precisely in those areas that the Greeks paid less attention to, in which the Greeks took less interest: it comes into its own in the legal, political, and military spheres. It developed views and sensibilities in these areas that, precisely because of the unique character of the Roman people, were so strong that they continued to have an impact for as long as we have been able to document today. The difference between Greek and Roman culture becomes particularly evident when one considers the Greek language and the Roman-Latin language from an inner, spiritual perspective. Thinkers who saw more deeply—such as Herbart in the 19th century—therefore wanted secondary school education to be structured differently than it had become under the powerful, surging wave of Roman culture. The current high school curriculum is such that students first learn Latin and then Greek. Herbart wanted students to learn Greek first and then Latin, because he held the entirely correct view that learning Latin first desensitizes one to the soulful, intimately moving nature of the Greek idiom. This has not yet come to pass, but it is the ideal of many discerning educators today. Yet the present is not guided by discernment, and it must bear the karmic consequences of its lack of discernment.

[ 10 ] The Greek language, like any language, reveals that behind Greek spiritual life lies that which flowed in from the ancient imaginations of the Egyptian-Chaldean period. Admittedly, people today are often not very well equipped to sense, behind every Greek word, that living quality that was present in the Greek soul. There, the word was in fact more of an outward gesture for a full, rich experience. Certainly, imagination—that pictorial, visionary mode of thinking—was no longer present among the Greeks to the same degree as it was during the Egyptian-Chaldean period. But one can still sense in the words that a resonance, a strong inner reverberation, lives on in the Greek soul from what the ancient imaginative conception once imbued. And what permeates the word everywhere—I would say—is a disregard for the mere word in the Greek language, a continued saturation with soulfulness. This soulfulness is evident in the finest surviving Greek words. One looks through the word; one does not hear the word directly, but looks through the word to a soul process that is taking place. This is expressed in the pronunciation and grammatical structure of the Greek language.

[ 11 ] The situation is different with the Roman-Latin language. What you can trace in relation to mythology is a characteristic feature of the Roman-Latin idiom itself. Take the Greek myths with the names of the gods that have been handed down: behind every god’s name, you will find the most concrete mythical events. And within these mythical events, the gods come to life, so that they stand before us, pass by us, and present themselves to us directly—relatively speaking—as flesh and blood, but in a spiritual sense. Take the Roman names of the gods, Saturn and Jupiter: they have become almost abstract concepts. What lies behind them in Greek culture has been lost; they have become abstract concepts. And so it is with the Roman-Latin idiom. Much of what lies behind the Greek language has been lost. And the word itself—how it sounds, how it is grammatically formed in the language—the word itself has become the very thing on which one focuses one’s attention, in which one lives. The immediate soulfulness, the essential emotional depth that the Greek language possesses, has given way in the Latin language itself to something colder. Therefore, the Latin-Roman essence behind the language did not require that echo of imaginative life—which was, after all, no longer there—but rather it required affect, passion, and emotion to, so to speak, set the words in motion. For the Latin language is, in the fullest sense, a logical language, and so that it does not merely proceed with logical coldness, what is expressed in it must be continually fueled by the emotional element that always underlies Roman life and that lives on throughout Roman history. This entire second chapter, which I have described, is not found in the same way in Roman-Latin history. In this Roman-Latin history, the things that fill the first great chapter are the main focus. And our young people, too, initially learn this main focus as the defining element in the world and in human development. And to grasp jurisprudence and to depict human relationships as they unfold out of emotion—this has, in a sense, become the secret of the Latin language.

[ 12 ] Today, one must view such matters without sympathy or antipathy if one truly wishes to understand them; for it is important to understand these matters precisely because they play such a major role in our educational life, precisely because they have become so deeply ingrained in our educational life. Let us consider—but, as I said, entirely without sympathy or antipathy, purely from a historical perspective—what is actually absorbed by the youthful mind through the study of Roman history. Much, of course, remains unspoken; but what is unspoken is all the more readily absorbed by the astral body and then lives on in people’s perceptions and feelings. What we call “law” today certainly existed in one form or another before Roman culture; but the way we understand law today is, in a sense, an invention of the Romans. That law which lends itself particularly well to being written down, that law which lends itself particularly well to dividing things into paragraphs, neatly categorizing them, and nesting concepts within one another—it is an invention of the Roman people. And why shouldn’t the Romans have told the world what is right and how to act justly? After all, isn’t it immediately clear why they should have done so, when one considers that they trace their own history back to Romulus, who had slain his brother and gathered together all those who had gotten into trouble in the neighborhood to make them the first Roman citizens; that they trace the possibility of perpetuating their lineage back to the abduction of the Sabine women! So it really does seem, with the help of that power which creates and acts by exercising resistance in the right way, that this people has in fact been called upon to invent the law and to eradicate injustice—this people that traces its origins back to men who were robbers and women who were abducted! It is through opposition, through contrast, that many things in world history are explained. One must, as I said, view these things without sympathy or antipathy, just as they are.

[ 13 ] Now the Romans are gradually establishing a great empire. We see how, at first, under the influence of ancient magical wisdom, the seven kings rule—who are more than mere myth, as we have often emphasized—but how, in the end, these seven kings meet their downfall through their own hubris. We then move through the era of the Republic, an era about which humanity still refuses to admit just how uninteresting these times of the Roman Republic actually are for people today. That is to say, although they are so uninteresting, so insignificant for people today, they still constitute a large part of what is used to educate young people today: these struggles between the patricians and the plebeians, these struggles that led to the events in which we see the rather unpleasant conflict between Marius and Sulla, in which we see Rome trembling before Catiline, and the endless series of slave revolts of the most terrible kind. This entire series is often presented today as the educational tool for our youth.

[ 14 ] And then, as this unfolds on Roman soil itself, we see this Roman identity spreading more and more, until it becomes an empire, striving, as it were, to encompass the entire known world of that time—and gradually coming to do so. But we see how the Roman feels isolated—in a way that we sometimes fail to fully consider when looking back on it today. How well do the deeds—well, let’s say those of Caracalla or others—align with the invention of law for humanity? Today, far too little attention is paid to how these Romans combined law and power with the most terrible subjugation of their colonies and the most terrible subjugation of those peoples over whom they gradually extended their conquest. But since the history of Rome is so well known, it is nevertheless good—because it is easy—to examine it once from a more mature perspective, one that we are already capable of adopting. We will certainly have nothing to correct in the historical accounts, for they are already accurately presented in history, but we will have to correct many of the feelings that we have absorbed in the process. One can, however, correct one’s feelings; for one might say, for example, if one does not view the whole matter without sympathy or antipathy, but with the very common sympathy and antipathy: “Yes, but didn’t the Romans later, of their own accord, grant Roman citizenship to the inhabitants of their colonies?” — Well, when you look at the motives, it does seem strange, for it was Caracalla—a man not exactly known for selfless motives, but rather for Roman egoism—who granted Roman citizenship to the colonists. That speaks volumes about the way people’s souls lived in ancient Rome. There were, however, noble jurists who devoted themselves to jurisprudence with a sense of spiritual depth, such as Papinian, a noble man; but Caracalla had him murdered. And one could cite many more examples that would already lead to a correction of this perception.

[ 15 ] Roman culture adopted Greek culture in whatever way it could. Greek culture flowed into Roman culture. Intellectually, Roman culture was thoroughly surpassed by Greek culture. But Greek culture had to pay for this surpassing with its downfall—with its downfall as a political—one cannot say “unity,” for the Greeks were never a political unity—but rather as a political community, with its downfall as a political community. Bossuet rightly says—though he attaches his admiration to these words—but words can indeed be true and one can perceive them in various ways: The only thing one hears spoken of is the greatness of the Roman name. Precisely in the heyday of Roman civilization, it is the greatness of the Roman name—that which has flowed into the word, that which the word itself feels and perceives as its very essence—that stands out. And so, viewed from a social perspective, Roman civilization reveals both immense wealth, flowing into Rome from the colonies, and, alongside it, the immense poverty of a large portion of the population.

[ 16 ] In the early days of the conquest, Roman culture absorbed Greek culture. Then we see how Christianity pushes its way into Roman culture, how Christianity insinuates itself into Roman culture, and how Christianity, for its part, must endure the formal elements inherent in the Roman essence. One could say: everything that constitutes the institutions of early Christianity grows into the structure of the Roman legal and administrative system. And so the old Roman culture is preserved and maintained in the formation of the Church. This ecclesiastical culture manifests in its institutions, in every respect, the forms that have been shaped out of Roman culture; it also adopts the Latin language in order to think in Latin and thereby, with the spread of Christianity, to help spread the Roman-Latin essence throughout Europe. However, once Roman culture had assimilated Greek culture and Christianity, a time came when people felt that they did not actually understand what they had assimilated, when they did not want it, and when they perceived it as a foreign element. At first, it had a powerful influence during the period when Greek culture was being assimilated; but gradually, Roman civilization felt strengthened in its legal and political essence and came to view Greek culture, embedded within its own structures, as something it no longer wished to retain. And one consequence of this is that in the 6th century, the Eastern Roman Emperor Justinian—who had the entire political and legal essence of Roman civilization codified in the *Corpus Juris Civilis*, so that everything that Roman civilization had produced in the realm of politics and law was brought together—Justinian, who was like an incarnation of the Roman-Latin essence, even though he ruled over in the Eastern Roman Empire—that it was he who finally closed and dissolved the Athenian schools of philosophy, put an end to Greek philosophy, and no longer permitted its practice. It was he who also put an end to the original free development of the Christian essence, primarily by bringing about the condemnation by the Church of Origen, who had combined the wisdom of Greek culture with the depth of Christianity and who had introduced occult—that is, semi-esoteric—elements into Christianity. Justinian was responsible for this.

[ 17 ] And so we see how Roman culture flows into the institutions of Europe via the Church—a circuitous route—to which the other political institutions then adapt, emerging from it, as it were, as rulers place particular emphasis on calling themselves “Defensor fidei” — even if, later on, when they wanted to break away, they cast off this title and founded their own church! Well, these things are not always considered with such thoroughness. So such rulers call themselves “Defensor fidei”; they call themselves the “Most Christian King” and so on. The institutions of public life develop from Roman culture. Roman culture, so to speak, permeates everything, instilling its essence into European civilization. And so we see how, in European institutions—after Justinian had compiled the great codex of Roman legal and political thought, after he had eradicated Greek philosophy, after he had had Origen condemned—we see how Roman culture lives on in Europe without the substance of Hellenism; how, in a sense, the external form—frozen in words and strengthened in external institutions—remains, how it endures, and how it has supplanted the rich, spiritually vibrant Greek culture.

[ 18 ] Insightful occultists throughout the centuries have therefore always had a certain feeling—one that is shared unanimously by those who, for certain reasons, do not wish to conceal it; they have had the correct sense that, in many areas, as it were, the specter—the “revenant”—of ancient Roman culture lived on in European institutions.

[ 19 ] But time and again we see how what came before influences what follows, how it is revived. And so we see that Roman culture is enriched by Greek culture a second time. The first time was, of course, during the period when the Republic in Rome evolved into the Empire, when Greek art, Greek philosophy, and Greek intellectual life flowed into Rome, where, in a sense, the Romans lived out Greek culture. They behaved, after all, like the great lords and made it easy for themselves to adopt this Greek culture: the philosophically educated Greeks were largely employed as tutors to the sons of Roman citizens—as slaves, in effect. This is how one preserves a culture that one has overcome; this is how one adapts it to Roman concepts.

[ 20 ] Then, in turn, a special era followed an era of stagnation—an era about which history records very little, because it was characterized by a jurisprudence that had become institutionalized within the Church and a Church that had become judicial in nature, a politicized Church; then, like a revival of Hellenism, came the period from Dante to the decline of Florentine freedom—the period we call the Renaissance—when Hellenism revived within Roman culture, when the Romans in turn became Hellenic, and when, in particular, Raphael and the others—with Raphael at their center—revived Hellenic elements within Roman culture. But it is a Renaissance; it is not a “naissance,” it is a Renaissance. And for long enough, Europe had to look back to this Renaissance. When Goethe went to Italy, he did not seek to study Roman essence—consider what Goethe experienced in Italy; what was he seeking? Greek essence in Italy! Everywhere he sought to discern the Greek way through Roman culture. Truly, Greek culture and Christianity were able to merge so closely during the Renaissance—and I mean this to be more than just a metaphor—that posterity can no longer distinguish between Greek culture and Christianity in the works of the Renaissance. As I have often told you, there is debate over whether Raphael’s famous painting “The School of Athens,” as it is called, truly depicts Plato and Aristotle as the central figures, or whether it depicts Peter and Paul. There are compelling reasons for both interpretations; both views have been advocated, so that in one of the most outstanding of these paintings it is impossible to tell whether one is dealing with Greek or Christian figures. But the two have become so intertwined that that wondrous union—which was forged in Greek intellectual life between the spiritual and the material—can be expressed just as well through Plato and Aristotle as through Peter and Paul. In Plato—whom some wish to see in the painting known as “The School of Athens”—we see the elderly man raising his hand toward the heavenly realm, with Aristotle standing beside him, representing his conceptual world, pointing downward toward the material world in search of the spirit within matter. One might just as well see Peter in the one pointing upward and Paul in the one pointing downward. But throughout this Renaissance, the subject has always been legitimately divided between two figures.

[ 21 ] In contrast to the Renaissance, which was a revival of Hellenism, something original must return. This can only come about through synthesis, through a higher synthesis. It is achieved by the fact that both gestures will be present in the same person: the gesture reaching upward toward the heavenly, and the gesture reaching downward toward the earthly. Then, of course, one needs the Luciferic and the Ahrimanic, contrasting with one another. What you see distributed across two figures in one of the greatest works of Renaissance art, you must see in our group—which is to be created—in the single figure of the representative of humanity: both gestures!

[ 22 ] It was the Middle Ages—or the dawn of the modern era—that needed this Renaissance, this revival of Hellenism. And how much of the vibrant life that has flowed ever since can be traced back to this Renaissance! We see how, in a philosopher like Nietzsche, this Renaissance comes to life again in his prime; we see how it springs forth from the scholarship of Jacob Burckhardt in such a marvelous way. This Renaissance continues to have an impact even into the most recent times, and it presents itself as something carried over from the earlier Greek era into this more recent era. One might say: Greek civilization was outwardly destroyed by Roman civilization, but many offshoots of Greek intellectual power have remained. Roughly until the year 333—for Justinian merely nailed shut the coffin that had been under construction since the 4th century—these Greek heroes of the spirit still had an impact, still reached into our time. And just as residual impulses from the spiritual world re-emerge, so too did they resurface during the Renaissance. One might say: Just as certain lunar forces in the great evolution shine forth again at a specific time—without whose shining human reason and human language could not have been born—so too did Greek culture, as a residual factor, shine forth again in the 15th and 16th centuries, giving rise to the Renaissance. Here we have a living example of how that which has been left behind—and which nevertheless acts as a Luciferic force in a later era—is turned toward the progress of humanity within the overall rationality of becoming. Certainly, the Greek heritage that had been left behind and reappeared during the Renaissance can be described as something Luciferic, and it did indeed produce all the side effects of the Luciferic when, alongside figures such as Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael, we see figures like Pope Alexander VI or Cesare Borgia and the others who appeared as the accompanying phenomena of this Renaissance.

[ 23 ] Europe needed this Renaissance, for this Renaissance offered Europe a great, great deal. And so, once again—especially from the 15th and 16th centuries onward, albeit now in a more veiled form—we have these two currents: one that was renewed during the Renaissance, and the other that has actually always continued to exert its influence and has remained within Romanism, having merely undergone the most diverse forms and transformations. And so, in more recent times, these two currents run side by side once more—profoundly influencing one another—and are of extraordinary significance. And when discussing such matters, one must familiarize oneself with a view of life and the world that is capable not of immediately feeling sympathy or antipathy toward words, but of characterizing them objectively and truly looking at things as they are.

[ 24 ] We have many Renaissance ideas and concepts that reach people not so much through the education of the young as through a more spiritual way of life. Again, not much is known about these things; but these Renaissance concepts live on in everyone, and they constitute an element distinct from that which has never actually disappeared, but has merely continued to evolve as the concepts and views of Romanism. A kind of imaginative element—a preservation of the imaginative element—lies in the Renaissance: a breaking free from mere logic, a breaking free from the coldness of Latinism, which always needs an emotional infusion to revitalize itself, because it is cold in and of itself.

[ 25 ] This stands in contrast to everything that was reintroduced to Europe as an uplifting element of life during the Renaissance: imaginative life. And this imaginative life had to be brought over from the Greek world; for we shall see tomorrow what it meant precisely that imaginative life was kindled, even as the new era began, even as the fourth period transitioned into the fifth post-Atlantean period; what it meant that the Renaissance, so to speak, served as the godfather at the birth of the fifth post-Atlantean period. This fifth post-Atlantean epoch must extricate itself—not by immediately resorting once again to all manner of emotional concepts, but by recognizing that it must extricate itself from Romanism, in the sense we have attempted to describe today. This does not, of course, diminish the greatness of Romanism. But the salvation of evolution lies in harmony, in maintaining balance, and in proper deliberation—not in turning toward one or the other one-sided extreme. Many concepts exist within European humanity that are seductive and tempting because they have remained from the Roman-Latin tradition, and because they function as tempting concepts by introducing into the soul a complex of ideas and feelings of which one is not always fully aware. Certainly—as I have already pointed out—one cannot say that the Romans invented the political-judicial element entirely; but they did invent it in the sense in which we would characterize it today. And in contrast to what the Greeks perceived in human beings through their vivid imaginations—or, rather, through the legacy of those vivid imaginations—Roman culture formed a specific concept that comes to life in this sense only within Roman culture and that is a plant growing entirely from juridical-political soil, if one understands the matter correctly: this is the concept of the Roman civis, the Roman citizen; the human being becomes a civis, a Roman citizen. Thus, a political-legal dimension is added to the concept of the human being; a legal-political element is incorporated into the concept of the human being. And what I referred to last time as the “politicization of the conceptual world” is intimately connected to what has become part of the very fabric of the European peoples through the concept of the *civis*. And there have been jurists in more recent times who based the kinship of modern humanity with Roman civilization simply on the concept of *civis*; through this concept—when it is vividly experienced—a person places himself within his community in a political-legal manner. Even if he does not admit it to himself, with this concept he places himself within humanity in a political-legal manner. Aristotle still spoke of “Zoon politikon”; he still equated the political with the “zoon,” with animals. Indeed, that was still an entirely different, imaginative mode of thought; it was not yet political thought; it was not yet a politicization of concepts.

[ 26 ] And so that element took shape, which is designated by a purely political-legal category. People are not aware that they are designating this element with a legal-political category, but through the elective affinity of concepts and ideas, they thereby place people within a political-legal element, sensing—albeit often unconsciously—a kinship with Roman political-legal culture in all of this, which in more recent times is referred to by the monstrous term — for everything that held significance in an earlier era, when transplanted into a later one, can also become a monstrosity — which is built upon the concept of *civis*, upon the word behind which a conceptual monstrosity lurks, upon the word “civilization,” with which such nonsense is perpetrated. And in everything that lies behind the word “civilization” lies Romanism. The insistence on “civilization” in the way it is often done today is Romanism that is not understood, often merely sensed Romanism—just as it often happens that, with a word intended to express something particularly lofty, one actually expresses something without realizing how deeply one thereby makes oneself dependent on historical powers. For those who perceive the entire political and judicial background of what lies within the word “civilization,” the utterance of that word, as it is used today, often evokes something like goosebumps, a kind of secret shudder, a sense of dread. Such things must indeed be spoken, for spiritual science is not for the nursery, as the world often believes, but spiritual science is for serious understanding of the world. In the face of this serious understanding of the world, many concepts that humanity today worships as idols will truly fall from their altars. Spiritual science must recognize this, for it is not for children. It is not meant to reduce the beings of the spiritual world to a kind of familiar interaction that one enjoys, as one might associate with poets; rather, spiritual science is meant to approach the spiritual world and its forces with the utmost seriousness.

[ 27 ] Tomorrow we will take these reflections further and learn to place them within the spiritual realm.