The Rudolf Steiner Archive

12. The Secret of Human Temperaments

[ 1 ] It has often been emphasized that the greatest mystery of humankind is humankind itself. Essentially, all profound natural science seeks to achieve its ultimate goal by synthesizing all natural processes in order to comprehend the laws governing the external world, and all spiritual science seeks out the sources of existence in order to understand and unravel the nature and purpose of human beings. So while it is undoubtedly true that, in general, humanity’s greatest mystery is humanity itself, it must also be emphasized—on the other hand—what each of us feels and senses in every encounter with others: that every single person is, in essence, a mystery to others and, in most cases, to themselves as well. We are not concerned today with the general mysteries of existence, but rather with that mystery—no less significant for life—which every human being presents to us in every encounter. For how infinitely diverse are human beings in their individual, deepest inner selves! One need only utter the word “temperament”—which will form the basis of our lecture today—to see that there are as many mysteries as there are people. Within the basic types—the fundamental dispositions—we find such diversity and difference among human beings that one can rightly say that the unique enigma of existence is expressed within the distinctive fundamental mood of the human being, which we call temperament. And where these mysteries intervene in the immediate practice of life, there the fundamental coloring of the human being—the temperament—plays a role. When a person approaches us, we sense that something of this fundamental disposition is coming toward us. Therefore, we can only hope that spiritual science has something necessary to say about the nature of the temperaments as well.

[ 2 ] One senses that human temperaments belong to the outer realm, for even though one must admit that temperaments spring from within, they are nevertheless expressed in everything we perceive externally in a human being. Yet the mystery of the human being cannot be solved through an external observation of nature. We can only begin to grasp the unique character of the human being when we learn what spiritual science has to say about humanity. There we learn that, first and foremost, what we find in a human being is that which places them within their hereditary lineage. They exhibit the characteristics they have inherited from their father, mother, grandparents, and so on. In turn, they pass these traits on to their descendants. Because human beings are thus placed within a generational lineage—because they have ancestors—they possess certain characteristics. But what they inherit from their forebears reveals only one aspect of the human being. Linked to this is what human beings bring with them from the spiritual world—what they contribute to what their father and mother, and their ancestors, can give them. What flows down through the stream of generations is combined with something else that passes from life to life, from existence to existence. On the one hand, we say: A person has this or that from their ancestors. — But when we observe a person’s development from childhood onward, we see how, from the core of their nature, there emerges that which is the fruit of previous lives—something they could never have inherited from their ancestors. We are familiar with the law of reincarnation, the succession of life courses. This is nothing other than a specific instance of a general cosmic law.

[ 3 ] It doesn’t seem so paradoxical to us when we consider the following: Let’s look at an inanimate mineral, a rock crystal. It has a regular shape. When it perishes, it leaves behind nothing of its form—nothing that endures or could be passed on to other rock crystals. The new crystal inherits nothing of its form. If we ascend from the mineral world into the plant world, it becomes clear to us that a plant cannot arise from the same law as applies to rock crystal. A plant can only exist if it is derived from a parent plant. Here, the form is preserved and passed on to the other being. If we ascend into the animal world, we find how the evolution of a species takes place. We see how the nineteenth century, in particular, regarded the discovery of this evolution of the species as one of its greatest achievements. We see not only how one form gives rise to another, but also how every young animal, while still in its mother’s womb, once again undergoes the earlier forms—the lower stages of development—that its ancestors had experienced. In animals, we observe an elevation of the species.

[ 4 ] In humans, we see not only an enhancement of the species and an evolution of the genus, but also a development of individuality. What a person acquires in the course of their life through education and experience is no more lost than the lineage of animal ancestors. A time will come when the essence of the human being will be traced back to a previous existence. It will be recognized that the human being is the fruit of a previous existence. The resistance that this teaching must overcome will be surmounted, just as the belief of scholars in earlier centuries—that living things could arise from non-living matter, such as river mud—was overcome. As recently as three hundred years ago, natural scientists believed that animals could develop from river mud—that is, from non-living matter. It was an Italian natural scientist, Francesco Redi, who first asserted that living beings could arise only from living beings. He was attacked for this teaching; he nearly met the same fate as Giordano Bruno. Today, of course, burning people is no longer in vogue. Anyone who comes forward today with a new truth—anyone who, for example, wants to trace the soul-spiritual back to the soul-spiritual—will not exactly be burned at the stake, but they will be regarded as a fool. A time will come when it will be regarded as nonsense to believe that a person lives only once, that there is nothing enduring that connects with one’s inherited characteristics.

[ 5 ] Now the big question arises: How can that which originates from entirely different worlds—that which must seek out a father and a mother—unite with the physical body? How can it clothe itself in the physical characteristics through which a human being is placed within the hereditary line? How does the union of these two currents take place—the spiritual-soul current into which a human being is placed through reincarnation, and the physical current of the hereditary line? A balance must be established. As the two currents unite, one current colors the other. They color one another. Just as the colors blue and yellow combine to form green, so do the two currents within the human being unite to form what is called one’s temperament. Here, the human being’s soul and the natural, inherited characteristics radiate forth. At the very center lies what constitutes temperament, situated midway between that through which a person connects to their ancestral line and what they bring with them from their previous incarnations. The temperament balances the eternal with the transitory. This balance is achieved through the way in which the elements we have come to know as the constituents of human nature relate to one another in a very specific manner.

[ 6 ] We know this human being, as he appears to us in life, as the result of the convergence of these two currents; we know him as a fourfold being. First comes the physical body, which the human being shares with the mineral world. As the first supersensory member, the etheric body is incorporated into him; it remains united with the physical body throughout his entire life; only at death do the two become separated. The third member is the astral body, the bearer of instincts, drives, passions, desires, and all that ebbs and flows in sensations and perceptions. The highest member of the human being—that which elevates him above all other beings—is the bearer of the human “I,” which, in such a mysterious yet also such an obvious way, gives him the power of self-consciousness. These four members have been revealed to us in the human being.

[ 7 ] Because two currents converge within the human being when he enters the physical world, a distinct mixture of the four constituent parts of the human being arises, and one of them, so to speak, gains dominion over the others and imposes its character upon them. If the ego-bearer dominates the other constituents of the human being, the choleric temperament prevails. If the astral body dominates the other constituents, we attribute a sanguine temperament to the person. If the etheric or life body prevails, we speak of a phlegmatic temperament. And if the physical body is predominant, the temperament is melancholic. Just as the eternal and the transitory intermingle, so does the relationship between the constitutive elements. It has often been noted how the four constitutive elements manifest themselves externally in the physical body. The “I” expresses itself through the circulation of the blood. Therefore, the blood system is predominant in the choleric individual. The astral body finds its physical expression in the nervous system; consequently, in the sanguine individual, the nervous system sets the tone in the physical body. The etheric body expresses itself physically through the glandular system; therefore, in the phlegmatic individual, the glandular system sets the tone in the physical body. The physical body as such finds expression only in the physical body itself; therefore, in the melancholic, the physical body is the dominant external feature. We can see this in all the manifestations we encounter in the individual temperaments.

[ 8 ] In the choleric person, the ego and the circulatory system are predominant. As a result, he appears as someone who wants to assert his ego under all circumstances. All of the choleric person’s aggression, and everything connected to his strong will, stems from the circulation of the blood. The nervous system and the astral body are the seats of the ebbing and flowing sensations and emotions. Only when these are restrained by the ego can harmony and order be established. If the individual did not restrain them through his ego, they would ebb and flow without any sign that he was exercising any control over them. The person would be at the mercy of every surge—from sensation to sensation, from image to image, from idea to idea, and so on.

[ 9 ] Something of this occurs when the astral body predominates—that is, in the sanguine person, who is, in a certain sense, at the mercy of fluctuating images, sensations, and ideas, since in this person the astral body and the nervous system predominate. What constitutes a person’s blood circulation acts as the tamer of nervous life. What happens when a person is anemic or prone to pallor—when this tamer is absent? Then there is an unbridled ebb and flow of images; illusions and hallucinations arise. We see a slight hint of this in the sanguine person. The sanguine person cannot linger on an impression; they cannot hold on to an image; their interest does not cling to an impression. They rush from one life impression to the next, from one perception to the next. This can be observed particularly in the sanguine child; there, it can be a cause for concern. Interest arises easily; an image begins to take effect readily and soon makes an impression, but the impression is soon gone again.

[ 10 ] Let us now turn to the phlegmatic temperament! We saw that the phlegmatic temperament arises when what we call the etheric or life body—which regulates a person’s internal growth and life processes—becomes predominant. This is expressed in a sense of inner contentment. The more a person lives in their etheric body, the more they are absorbed in themselves and let external matters take their course. They are absorbed in their inner world.

[ 11 ] In the case of the melancholic, we have seen that the physical body—that is, the densest aspect of the human being—takes control over the others. Whenever the densest part takes control, the person feels that they are not in control of it, that they cannot manage it. For the physical body is the instrument that they are meant to control everywhere through their higher aspects; but now this physical body takes control and offers resistance to the others. The person experiences this as pain, displeasure, and the gloomy mood of the melancholic. There is always a rising tide of pain. This mood stems from nothing other than the fact that the physical body opposes the inner comfort of the etheric body, the mobility of the astral body, and the purposeful direction of the “I.”

[ 12 ] What we see here as the interplay of the four constitutional elements of the human being is clearly and distinctly evident in the outer form. When the “I” predominates, the human being seeks to assert itself against all external resistance and to come to the fore. It then literally holds back the growth of the other constituents of the human being—the astral body and the etheric body—and does not allow them to come into their own. This is already evident from a purely external perspective. Johann Gottlieb Fichte, for example, the German choleric, is recognizable as such even outwardly. His physical stature clearly revealed that the other constituents of his being had been held back. Or a classic example of a choleric person is Napoleon, who remained so short because the ego held back the other aspects of his being. Of course, this is not to say that choleric people are short and sanguine people are tall. We may only compare a person’s stature to their own growth. What matters is the relationship between their height and their overall build.

[ 13 ] In the sanguine person, the nervous system and the astral body predominate. In his inner, dynamic life, he will work through his limbs; he will also make the outer appearance of the human being as dynamic as possible. Whereas the choleric type has sharply defined facial features, the sanguine type has lively, expressive, and ever-changing facial features. Even in the slender physique and bone structure, we see the inner liveliness of the astral body reflected in the whole person. It is expressed, for example, in the slender muscles. This is also evident in the way the person carries themselves outwardly. Even someone who is not clairvoyant can tell from behind whether a person is a sanguine or a choleric type. You don’t need to be a scholar of spiritual science to do this. If you watch a choleric person walk, you can observe how they place each foot as if, with every step, they not only want to touch the ground but as if the foot were meant to sink a little way into the ground. With the sanguine person, on the other hand, we see a hopping, springy gait. More subtle characteristics can also be found in their outward appearance. The inwardness of the “I” nature—the closed inwardness of the choleric person—is revealed to us in the choleric person’s dark eyes. Look at the sanguine person, in whom the “I”-nature is not so deeply rooted, and in whom the astral body pours out all its mobility—here the blue eye predominates. Many such characteristics could be cited that reveal the temperament in outward appearance.

[ 14 ] The phlegmatic temperament is evident in the immobile, impassive facial expression, in the fullness of the body, and especially in the development of the fatty areas; for this is what the etheric body in particular develops. In all of this, the inner contentment of the phlegmatic person is evident. He has a shuffling gait. He does not, so to speak, carry himself properly; he does not engage with his surroundings. — And look at the melancholic person, who usually has a drooping head, lacking the inner strength to hold his neck upright. The eyes are dull; they lack the brilliance of the black eyes of the choleric person. The gait is firm, to be sure, but it is not the gait of the choleric person—that firm, confident stride—rather, it is a sort of shuffling yet firm gait.

[ 15 ] As you can see, spiritual science can make a significant contribution to solving this mystery. But only if one approaches reality in its entirety—which includes the spiritual realm—and does not limit oneself to the sensory realm alone, can practical living arise from this insight. Therefore, this insight can flow only from spiritual science, so that it may serve the well-being of all humanity and of the individual. In education, close attention must be paid to the nature of one’s temperament, for with children it is particularly important to be able to guide and direct this developing temperament. But it remains important for a person even later in the process of self-education. For those who wish to educate themselves, it is valuable to pay attention to what is expressed in their temperament.

[ 16 ] I have listed the basic types here. Of course, they do not occur in such pure form in real life. Every person has only the basic tone of one temperament, but also possesses traits of the others. Napoleon, for example, had a great deal of phlegmatic traits, even though he was a choleric. If we are to master life in a practical sense, it is essential that we allow what is typically expressed to influence our soul. Just how important this is becomes most evident when we consider that temperaments can degenerate—that what we encounter in one-sidedness can also degenerate. What would the world be without temperaments, if people had only one temperament! The most boring thing you could imagine! The world would be boring without the temperaments, not only in a moral sense but also in a higher sense. All the diversity, beauty, and richness of life are possible only through the temperaments. Education is not about balancing or leveling out the temperaments, but rather about steering them onto the right track. Yet within every temperament lies a minor and a major danger of degeneration. In the case of the choleric person, the danger in youth is that such a person, through uncontrollable rage, will have their ego imprinted upon them. That is the minor danger. The major danger is folly, which, stemming from their ego, seeks to pursue some singular goal. For the sanguine temperament, the minor danger is that the person will fall into flightiness. The major danger is that the ebb and flow of emotions will lead to insanity. The minor danger for the phlegmatic person is a lack of interest in the external world; the major danger is idiocy, dullness. The minor danger for the melancholic temperament is gloom, the possibility that the person cannot rise above what arises within themselves. The major danger is madness.

[ 17 ] If we keep all this in mind, we will see that guiding and directing the temperaments is a significant task in the practice of life. But in order to guide the temperaments, we must observe the principle that we must always work with what is present, not with what is absent. If a child has a sanguine temperament, we cannot help them in their development by trying to force interest upon them; we cannot instill in them anything other than what their sanguine temperament actually is. We should not ask: What is the child lacking, and what should we force upon them? — but rather we should ask: What does a sanguine child typically possess? And that is what we must take into account. As a rule, we will find one thing: interest can always be aroused—interest in a particular person, no matter how flighty the child may be. If we are that right person ourselves, or if we can introduce the right person to the child, interest will naturally arise. Interest in a sanguine child can arise only through the indirect path of love for a particular person. More than any other temperament, the sanguine child needs love for a particular person. Everything must be done to awaken this love in such a child. Love is the magic word. We must see what is there. We must introduce all sorts of things into the child’s environment that we have noticed the child takes a deeper interest in. These things must be allowed to speak to the sanguine child; they must be allowed to have an effect on the child; they must then be taken away so that the child desires them again, and they must be given to the child anew. They must be allowed to affect the child in the same way that objects of the everyday world affect the sanguine temperament.

[ 18 ] With the choleric child, there is also a path through which development must always be guided. In this case, what reliably guides the child’s upbringing is respect for and appreciation of authority. This is not a matter of winning the child’s favor through personal qualities, as with the sanguine child, but rather it is essential that the choleric child always believe that the educator understands the matter at hand. One must demonstrate that one is knowledgeable about the things happening around the child. One must not show any weakness. The child must always be kept believing that the educator is competent; otherwise, the educator has immediately lost the child’s trust. If love for the educator’s personality is the magic formula for the sanguine child, then respect and appreciation for a person’s worth are the magic words for the choleric child. In particular, the child must be presented with challenges that offer resistance. Resistance and difficulties must be placed in their path. One must try not to make life too easy for them.

[ 19 ] The melancholic child is not easy to guide. But here, too, there is a magic remedy. Just as the magic words for the sanguine child are love for the educator’s personality, and for the choleric child, appreciation and respect for the educator’s worth, so too for the melancholic child, what matters most is that the educators are individuals who have been tested in life in a certain way—who act and speak from a life of experience. The child must sense that the educator has endured real suffering. Let the child perceive, in all the myriad things of life, the fates of others. Empathy with the fate of those around one has an educational effect here. Here, too, with the melancholic child, we must work with what he has. He has the capacity for pain and the capacity for despondency; these lie within him, and we cannot beat them out of him. But we can divert them. Let them experience justified pain and suffering in their external life, so that they learn there are things that can cause them pain. That is what matters. One should not distract him: doing so only hardens his melancholy, his inner pain. He should see that there are things in life that can cause pain. While one must not take this too far, it is nevertheless essential that external circumstances provoke pain that distracts him.

[ 20 ] The phlegmatic child must not grow up in isolation. While it is certainly beneficial for other children to have playmates, this is especially true for the phlegmatic child. He must have playmates with a wide variety of interests. He can be nurtured by experiencing the interests—and as many of them as possible—of other personalities. If he behaves indifferently toward his surroundings, his interest can be sparked by the influence of his playmates’ and companions’ interests. Whereas for the melancholic child it is crucial to experience the fate of another person, for the phlegmatic child it is crucial to experience the interests of his playmates. Things in and of themselves do not affect the phlegmatic child; but when things are reflected in other people, these interests are then reflected in the soul of the phlegmatic child. We should then take special care to introduce objects into his environment and allow events to take place in his vicinity where phlegmatic tendencies are appropriate. One must direct the phlegmatic disposition toward the right objects, toward which one is permitted to be phlegmatic.

[ 21 ] In these educational principles, we see how spiritual science intervenes in the practical questions of life. Here, too, a person can take self-education into their own hands. For example, a sanguine person does not achieve their goal by telling themselves: “You have a sanguine temperament; you must break that habit.” The intellect, when applied directly, is often an obstacle in this area. Indirectly, however, it can accomplish a great deal. The intellect is the weakest of the soul’s powers here. When it comes to stronger soul forces, such as the temperaments, the intellect can do very little directly; it can only act indirectly. A person must take their sanguine nature into account; self-admonitions are fruitless. What matters is expressing this sanguine nature in the right context. Through reason, we can create experiences that justify the sanguine person’s fleeting interest. So even if we bring about such situations—no matter how small—in which that fleeting interest is appropriate, it will already bring about what is necessary. In the case of the choleric temperament, it is good to choose such subjects and, through reason, to create situations in which it does us no good to rage—situations in which our rage leads us to absurdity. The melancholic temperament should not ignore the pains and sufferings of life, but should actively seek them out and share in them, so that its pain may be redirected toward the proper objects and events. If we are phlegmatic individuals who lack interests, it is good for us to occupy ourselves as much as possible with truly uninteresting subjects, to surround ourselves with plenty of sources of boredom, so that we become thoroughly bored. Then we will thoroughly cure ourselves of our phlegmatism and thoroughly break the habit. In this way, one deals with what is there, and not with what is not there.

[ 22 ] If we allow ourselves to be imbued with this wisdom, then the fundamental mystery of life—presented to us by each individual human being—will be solved. It cannot be solved by simply imposing abstract ideas and concepts. The general mystery of humanity can be solved through images. This individual mystery cannot be solved by imposing abstract ideas and concepts; rather, we must approach each individual in such a way that we show them direct understanding. But this is only possible if we know what lies at the very core of the soul. Spiritual science is something that slowly and gradually flows into our entire soul, so that it makes the soul receptive not only to the great connections but also to the subtle details. In spiritual science, when one soul faces another, and the other calls for love, love is given to it. If it calls for something else, that other thing is given to it. In this way, through such true wisdom of life, we create a social foundation. This means solving a riddle at every moment. Anthroposophy does not work through sermons, admonitions, or moralizing, but by creating a social foundation in which human beings can recognize one another. Spiritual science is the foundation of life, and love is the blossom and fruit of such a life inspired by spiritual science. Therefore, spiritual science may say that it establishes something that provides a foundation for what is the most beautiful goal of human destiny: genuine, true love for humanity.