The Four Temperaments
The body, the soul and the spirit are common to every specimen of the race, and to possess them gives one a claim to the honour and hopes of humanity. But, while human beings are to this extent identical, they are in numerous respects diverse from one another; and we may now give some attention to the differences existing within human nature.
No two human beings have ever been absolutely alike. Even in the same family the contrast between one side and another is sometimes almost ludicrous in extent. In some men all the potencies of human nature are seen at their highest, while in others they sink to the very lowest stage consistent with being human at all. Between a Shakspeare and a Bacon, on the one hand, and one of the aborigines of Australia, on the other, how wide the gulf! yet both are human. Many differences are no doubt the result of training, but there are others which reach much further back. Philosophers have, indeed, sometimes tried to persuade themselves that all souls come into existence alike, and that the
1 This lecture was not delivered in America; but lit is introduced here because it illustrates fully as well as any of the rest what is meant by the adjective “Christian “in the title of this book; though, all through, the endeavour has been made to follow the counsel of Sir Thomas Browne, •’ Christianize thy Notions “.
(257) 17 differences by which they are subsequently divided are due to the force of environment or to personal choice. But it is impossible to believe it. Long before they leave the hidden laboratory of nature, souls are distinguished from one another. Certain thinkers have maintained that souls are all alike at their origin, but that the differences of the bodies in which they are encased make them appear to be different; though others have held the exact opposite — that the soul within determines the shape of the body — its beauty or deformity. But both body and soul are, I suspect, peculiar from the first. Among the causes to which the differences among human beings are due may be mentioned sex, temperament, race, and talent or genius. Each of these would be well worthy of close consideration; but at present we must content ourselves with taking one of them as a specimen; and we shall select the second.^
The word “temperament” means literally a mixture; and the ancient physicians by whom it was invented held that a person’s temperament is determined by the proportions in which the elements are mixed of which his constitution is composed; or rather, the element which preponderates in the constitution of each determines his temperament. These elements they reckoned to be four; and, as any one of the four may be predominant, it follows that there are four tempera-
A thoroughly scientific treatment of the Temperaments will be found in Dorner’s work on ‘• Christian Ethics,” third chapter of the second division. There is a booklet on the subject by Principal Whyte, who handles it in his usual realistic and home-coming manner. And there is a similar work in German, by Oskar Briissau, entitled “Die Temperamente und das christliche Leben “. For a sharp criticism of the ancient doctrine of the Temperaments see Shand, “The Foundations cf Character,” bk. L, cb, %lih mentg, which they denominated the Sanguine, the Phlegmatic, the Choleric and the Melancholic.
The Sanguine temperament, as its name implies, was supposed to be due to a certain fulness of the blood; and it is of a warm and abounding nature. It is the temperament most disposed to happiness and hopefulness. It is easily excited by impressions from the outside and responds to these with prompt resolves and actions. It may be considered a precious gift to its possessor; because the sanguine man easily rises again from beneath the blows of adversity; the welcomes every pleasure as it comes; and he never borrows trouble from to-morrow.
The Phlegmatic temperament is, in most respects, the exact opposite of the sanguine. It is slow and calm, perhaps cold, not easily excited or even roused. It loves the monotony of established custom and dislikes change and hurry. It knows neither the violence of grief nor the ecstasy of joy, and it has been compared to the skies of the North, where everything is enveloped in a perpetual haze. The phlegmatic man easily allows others to do things for him, and thus he is liable to fall completely under the influence of a stronger will.
The Choleric temperament is, in some respects, like the sanguine; but, whereas the sanguine denotes chiefly a susceptibility to impressions made by others, the choleric indicates the power of making impressions on others. It is full of passion and energy, fiery in conception and swift in execution. The choleric man achieves what he has set his heart upon. He can set before himself a single aim and, forgetting everything else, press toward the mark, scorning difficulties and trampling obstacles beneath his feet. This is the temperament of the pioneer and the missionary, of the reformer and the conqueror.
The Melancholic temperament is the antipodes of this prompt and practical disposition. It belongs to deep and brooding natures. In its external reserve it bears some resemblance to the phlegmatic; but this is only superficial; for behind the veil of reserve it conceals the utmost intensity. Whilst the choleric temperament sees the objects at which it aims, however remote these may be, as if they were within reach, and eagerly stretches out its hands to seize them, the melancholic, on the contrary, loves to see its objects far away in dim outlines which melt into infinity. The Greeks, who invented these descriptions, attributed this temperament to their greatest men, such as Socrates and Plato. This is the temp lament of the poet, the artist, the thinker.
How far the medical knowledge of modern times would confirm the notions of the ancients as to the cause and origin of these distinctions among human beings, I cannot say; but that the distinctions are real no person who hears them described can doubt. It is only necessary to look at any group of children in order to see them all. There is the child who is always happy and lively, giving no trouble except perhaps by her restlessness, welcoming every new proposal and always ready to adopt a new friend, sunny as a butterfly and passing from pleasure to pleasure as that insect flits from flower to flower. This is the sanguine temperament. Then there is the quiet child, whose voice is seldom heard, who is scarcely noticed if present or missed if absent, who never originates any proposal or takes the lead in any adventure, but is a hanger-on to a knot of friends and perfectly content to have every movement decided by the rest. This is the phlegmatic temperament. Then, in such a group there is sure to be a choleric specimen — the boy who gets his own way in everything and blazes up into fury if he be resisted, who drills his companions as soldiers, is ready with a blow whenever it is required, and is worshipped by his companions as a hero. Lastly, there is the solitary boy, who says little but closely watches everything, who beats his schoolfellows at lessons and is the favourite of the schoolmaster, who loves a book in a corner and asks questions which puzzle the oldest heads. This is the melancholic temperament.
Not only are these distinctions visible among individuals: they characterize entire divisions of the human race. Thus, the sanguine and the phlegmatic temperaments are specially common among the female and the choleric and melancholic among the male sex. The broad distinctions in the ancient world of Hebrew, Greek and Roman correspond closely with differences of temperament; so, in the modern world, do the contrasts of English, Irish and Scotch in the British Isles, of French and German on the Continent of Europe, and of Southern and Northern in America.^ There are, besides, mixed temperaments: that is to say, one individual may, in different circumstances, exhibit the peculiarities of more than a single temperament. Especially may this be the case at different stages of life. Indeed, it has even been suggested that each of the four stages of life is especially associated with one of the four temperaments, childhood being phlegmatic, youth sanguine, maturity choleric, and old age melancholic. This, however, it is manifest, can only be said with considerable reservation; and, upon the whole, there is most to be learned from the broad, general fact, that everyone comes into the world with his own peculiar disposition, this peculiarity
1 These are called by Schleiermacher “national temperaments “.
being roughly at least equivalent to the possession of one or other of the four temperaments.
It is not at all difficult to see the moral and spiritual bearing of all this.
Each of the four temperaments has its own temptations. It does not, indeed, follow, because a man has been born with a certain temperament, that he will fall into certain sins. Sin is not inevitable. But, if he do fall into sin, it can be predicted, if his temperament be known, what kind of sin it will be. Every man according to his own temperament has sins which it is difficult for him to resist and into which it will be easy for him to fall. Hence, a wise man will desire to know himself, in order that he may be aware at which points it is specially necessary for him toi keep watch and ward.
The sanguine man’s temptation is to grasp at many things but bring “nothing to perfection. In business he flits from scheme to scheme and launches out into undertakings which not infrequently involve others as well as himself in difficulty or ruin. He is always certain that he is going to succeed, and his faith in his own star is so contagious that it is not easy for others to resist his enthusiasm. He exaggerates unawares in speaking about himself and everything connected with himself, and it is hard for him to be absolutely honest in either word or deed.
The phlegmatic man’s temptation is to bury his talent in the earth. He clings to what is old simply because it is old, after it has become an abuse and a wrong, and he resists change even when it is urgently required. He has an excess of passivity, and it is difficult to make him realise that life contains a task for the discharge of which he is responsible. The world’s sins and sorrows are crying out for help, but the call by which others are thrilled does not move him. The cause of Christ is in need of initiative and support, but his life glides by with nothing done. His habit of leaving everything to be attended to and done by others exposes him to the risk of being dragged into error under the influence of a more fascinating or commanding personality. Great numbers of the young, both men and women, are led into courses where their souls are stained and their prospects ruined not so much by any violent desire for the forbidden fruit or by violent delight in the enjoyment of it as through their being easily led and not having enough of spirit to resist the proposals which their consciences condemn. It may be added that, at the opposite end of life also, this disposition is beset with special danger. The pleasures of the table then prove a snare to such vegetative natures, converting existence into a heavy dream. In fact, the worst temptations of phlegmatic natures begin at the very point where the fires of temptation in the sanguine are beginning to burn themselves out.^
The temptations of the choleric temperament are precisely the opposite of those just, described. They arise from the impulses towards sensuality and are strongest at those early stages
Isaac is, in biblical biography, a striking example ofithis temperament, and he did not escape the danger indicated above. Abraham and Jacob are examples of other temperaments; and that the three patriarchs stood in the relations of grandfather, son and grandson is a remarkable illustration of how temperaments may differ even in the closest family connexions. Yet Jehovah was “the God of Abraham, of Isaac and of Jacob “; this being His name and memorial from generation to generation; which seems to iprove that no temperament disqualifies for the love and service of God, but that each can render to its Creator a tribute of its own.
of existence when the flames of passion burn most fiercely. The man who rushes madly into vice, and who feels that he must have the forbidden thing which is destroying him even though he should have to go through the fire to procure it, is of this temperament. So is he who stakes upon a single cast his good name, his chances of success, and the fortunes of his family. Though this has been correctly called above the disposition of the pioneer and the missionary, it is likewise the temperament of the ringleader in evil, who by his brilliant recklessness draws others after him down the broad road. The Devil has his missionaries as well as the Saviour; and it is a solemn reflection that the natural qualifications for both services are the same.
The melancholic temperament has, like the rest, its own liabilities to special sins. It is not, like the choleric, liable to be hurried headlong into open sin. For this it has too much self-restraint. But it broods in secret on forbidden subjects. In the hidden mind there may be going on a carnival of passion which prudence or shame keeps from breaking forth in outward acts. Besides, this temperament has other temptations: it disposes its possessor to brood on the sadness of the world and the apparent injustice of the providence of God, till from such ruminations may be gendered the savage scorn of the cynic, who jeers as he turns inside out the seamy side of human nature, or the reasonings of the atheist, who sees in the universe no loving Father but only the remorseless grinding of the wheels of fate. The ravings of a Timon and the obscene savagery of a Swift are exhibitions of this temperament in a state of deterioration; and the end may be the crime of suicide.
In the doctrine of temperament’ there is, as we have seen.
a solemn strain of warning, which none can consider themselves entitled to neglect. But happily this is only one side of the picture: there is another side, which is as happy and hopeful as the one just presented is threatening. If each temperament has its own temptations, each has also its own possibilities of good. It does not, indeed, determine that, if a man possesses it, he will either be good or do good. This depends on divine grace; it depends on whether or not a man surrenders himself to God. But, if a man be a Christian, his temperament determines beforehand what kind of Christian he will be and what kind of good works he will do.
The special virtue of the sanguine disposition is to display the bright and hopeful side of Christianity. If we look round us in any living Christian community, it is easy in our generation to pick out examples in which this temperament has developed into a most attractive type of Christian character — the woman who never grows weary in well-doing and whose acts of considerateness and helpfulness are the subject of comment at every turn in the neighbourhood in which she moves; the man who is engaged in a score of schemes for the temporal and spiritual amelioration of the world, who responds with a sympathetic heart and a liberal hand to calls from every point of the compass, and who never pulls one iron out of the fire without thrusting in two or three others to take its place. The Church could ill want her sanguine members.
The phlegmatic temperament, however, under the influence of grace, also unfolds peculiar excellences. There are a great many Christians who never start anything new and are incapable of an original idea, yet lend their whole force to swell the well-defined testimony of Christianity and are willing to spend and be spent in accepted ways of doing good. They depend for initiative and guidance on more original and energetic natures; but they have chosen God’s people for their people, and they never leave any doubt as to the side to which they belong. While the work of God has places for conspicuous leaders, it has places also for those who have neither taste nor talent for leadership but cultivate the shade. The army of salvation requires multitudes of privates as well as a staff of officers; and, when so many are determined to be either at the top or nowhere, it is gratifying to meet with those who can with perfect contentment and good humour take the second or third or even the twentieth or thirtieth place. In old age this temperament appears to great advantage; for it blossoms sweetly into those virtues of meekness and peaceful contentment which so much adorn the hoary head, and which were so highly praised by the Saviour.
The choleric temperament supplies the militant element in Christianity. Though Jesus Christ is called the Prince of Peace, yet He said HimseK: “I came not to send peace, but a sword “. His religion is an aggressive and conquering movement; it must pull down every stronghold in which evil has entrenched itself; for it has undertaken nothing less than to embrace the whole world in a reign of righteousness. It requires, therefore, men of enterprise and courage, who can both take blows and give them, who will not be turned aside by fear or favour, but can set before themselves an object and sacrifice everything for its attainment. Such a man was St. Paul; such was Luther; such was Livingstone; such have been hundreds more of the pioneer and conquering spirits of humanity — men of passionate force, but with the fiery elements of nature yoked, like the flame in the steam-engine, to a beneficent purpose. And these have been illustrations of the choleric temperament.
Lastly, the melancholic temperament has likewise its own peculiar excellences and possibilities, though, in a practical age like ours, these may be undervalued, because they do not at once strike the eye. Ours is an age of work, when everyone is expected to have his brain teeming with schemes for the improvement of the world and his hands full of philanthropic and missionary activities. But the Church of Chiist, in spite of the services of such adherents, would soon sink into spiritual poverty unless her great Head bestowed on her some servants who, though ill-fitted for the glare of publicity and the macagement of practical affairs, delight to brood on the mysteries of the faith and are compelled by an inner necessity to think out her beliefs in the face of the advancing knowledge of the ages. Such work takes place in the depths; it makes no noise; its results are long in coming to fruition; but it is indispensable. Christianity needs her St. Johns as well as her St. Pauls, her Melanchthons as well as her Luthers, her Cowpers as well as her Wesleys, her Dantes and Miltons as well as her Moodys and Booths; and she finds them among men of the melancholic temperament.
Here we come upon that conception of the Church in which St. Paul so much delighted, as an organism in which every variety of natural disposition and endowment can find its own place and its own work. “For the body is not one member, but many. If the foot shall say, Because I am not the hand, I am not of the body, is it therefore not of the body? And, if the ear shall say, Because I am not the eye, I am not of the body, is it therefore not of the body? If the whole were an eye, where were the hearing? If the whole were hearing, where were the smelling? But now hath God set the members, every one of them, in the body where it hath pleased Him. And the eye cannot say to the hand, I have no need of thee, nor again the head to the feet, I have no need of you.” This variety, however, of construction and function in the realm of grace is founded on an older variety in the realm of nature. But the most solemn lesson of this study is for the individual. Each has, at his birth, received from nature his own share; but each has to determine for himself what he will do with it; and the same powers may form a contribution to the right side or to the wrong. With the same natural gifts different individuals may be servants of Christ, helping to make the world better, or they may be servants of the Evil One, tempting and deteriorating others. Everything depends on a choice and a decision. “Choose well; your choice is brief, and yet endless.”