The Rudolf Steiner Archive

3. The Evolution of the Human Senses

[ 1 ] The changes that occur in a person during occult or anthroposophical development—particularly with regard to the muscular system and, more specifically, the senses and sensory organs—serve, as it were, as a bridge from the human physical body to the etheric system, to the etheric body. With regard to the muscular system, it must be said that the human being not only feels the muscular system gradually becoming more mobile—as could indeed be said of the other physical organs—but that he feels this muscular system—one might say—not only becoming more alive, but also as if permeated by a faint inner consciousness. It is as if consciousness were actually expanding over the muscular system. And if one were to speak—not at all imprecisely, but somewhat paradoxically—about the corresponding experience, one could say: In the course of esoteric development, one gradually comes to perceive the individual muscles and their system as if in an inner dream; one carries one’s muscular system around with oneself in such a way that one occasionally dreams faintly of the activity of this muscular system in the midst of waking life. It is, after all, very interesting to focus specifically on this change in the physical shell, for the reason that in this perception one has something that can best inform one, in a certain sense, that one has made a certain amount of progress.

[ 2 ] When one begins to feel the individual muscles in such a way that, for example, when bending and stretching them, one has a faint awareness of what is happening there, a faint sense of empathy, then one must say: something is going on inside the muscles. When one dreams of one’s muscle movements, this is proof that one is beginning to gradually sense the etheric body impregnated within the physical body; for what one actually feels there are the forces of the etheric body at work in the muscles. So that it is a beginning of the perception of the etheric body when one dreams of one’s individual muscles, when one has, as it were, a dreamlike awareness of oneself just as one finds the human being depicted in anatomical textbooks, where the skin has been stripped away and he is revealed only in his muscles. Yes, it is, in a sense, a kind of “peeling away the skin” and “dreaming of one’s individual limbs” as if of a sort of limb puppet, to which one ascends when one begins to perceive the etheric being.

[ 3 ] Less pleasant, though by no means absent, is the sensation that arises when, as it were, the skeletal system dawns upon one’s consciousness. It is less pleasant because, when this skeletal system is perceived, it is through it that one most acutely and strikingly senses one’s gradual aging. That is why it is not exactly pleasant to pay attention to the sensitivity that arises in relation to the skeletal system, which, after all, a person does not normally feel at all in everyday life; but one begins to feel something like a shadow within oneself in one’s skeletal system when one develops etherically. And then one begins to grasp that it did indeed correspond to a certain ancient clairvoyant power of humanity that they depicted the skeleton as the symbolic expression of death. They knew that one gradually learns to feel the approach of death in one’s skeleton.

[ 4 ] But far more significant than all of this is the experience one has with one’s sense organs during esoteric or anthroposophical development. We know, after all, that these sense organs must actually be shut down when a person undergoes esoteric development; they must, so to speak, fall silent. As a result, the physical sense organs feel, as it were, condemned to inactivity during esoteric development; they are switched off. In place of their being switched off as physical sense organs, something else takes their place: first, a gradual awareness of the individual sense organs as distinct worlds that penetrate into one. One learns to perceive the eyes, the ears, even the sense of warmth, as if they were drilling into one. But what one learns to perceive there is not the physical sense organ, but rather the etheric forces, the forces of the etheric body, which act in an organizing manner upon the sense organs. So that when one switches off the activity of the senses, one sees, as it were, the nature of these sense organs unfold as so many etheric organizations bored into one. This is extraordinarily interesting. To the extent that one seriously, during one’s esoteric development, for example, shuts down the eye and no longer reflects on physical seeing, to that extent one comes to know something that burrows into one’s own organism like light organisms; one then truly comes to recognize that the eye has gradually come into being through the inner light forces working upon our organism. For while one refrains from all activity of the physical eye, one feels the field of vision permeated by the etheric light forces that act in an organizing manner upon the eye. It is a peculiar phenomenon that, by switching off the eye, one comes to know the light forces through it. All physical theories pale in comparison to that knowledge of the inner nature of light and its effects which one experiences when, after practicing for a while to switch off the physical vision of the eye, one gradually learns to perceive the inner nature of the ethereal forces of light in place of the physical use of the eye.

[ 5 ] The sense of heat, so to speak, operates on a lower level. It is, after all, extremely difficult to truly eliminate sensitivity to heat and cold. One succeeds best if, during one’s esoteric development, one tries not to be disturbed by any sensation of warmth during the course of meditation. It is therefore advisable to conduct one’s meditation in such a way that one is surrounded by a temperature that is perceived as neither warm nor cold, so that one is not irritated in any way, neither by sensations of warmth nor of cold. If one succeeds in this—though it is difficult to distinguish from ordinary temperature perception—then one can gradually become accustomed to getting to know the inner nature of the warmth ether, the warmth ether that radiates through space; only then does one feel, in one’s own physicality, as if permeated by the actual activity of the warmth ether. When one no longer has the sensory perception of warmth, one comes to know the nature of the warmth ether through oneself.

[ 6 ] By suspending the sense of taste—which, of course, is suspended during esoteric exercises—but if one then succeeds in recalling taste sensations, this provides a means of perceiving the nature of an ether even finer than the light ether, the so-called chemical ether. This is not entirely easy either, but it can be experienced. Similarly, by appropriately suspending the sense of smell, one can perceive the life ether.

[ 7 ] It is a peculiar experience to shut out one’s hearing. To do so, however, one must achieve such a state of detachment that, even when audible sounds are occurring nearby, one no longer hears them. One must therefore learn to deliberately disregard audible sounds. Then the forces residing in the etheric body—which organized our organ of hearing—come to meet us as if drilling into our organism. In doing so, one makes a remarkable discovery. These things indeed belong to the mysteries that lie ever higher and higher. Therefore, it may perhaps be easy to say that not everything that is said in connection with these experiences regarding senses such as the sense of hearing can be immediately understood. One discovers, in fact, that the ear is organized in such a way that one recognizes clearly: this ear, as we humans possess it in its marvelous organization, could not possibly have been formed from the forces that, as etheric forces, surround the Earth as such. The light forces, the etheric forces of light that surround the Earth, are intimately connected with the formation of our eyes, even though the eye structure was already present earlier; but the way the eye is shaped, the way it is now situated in the organism, is intimately connected with the light-etheric forces of the Earth. Likewise, our sense of taste is connected to the chemical etheric forces of the Earth; it is largely formed from these. Our sense of smell is connected to the life-ether of the Earth; it is almost exclusively organized from the life-ether that surrounds the Earth. Our hearing organ, however, when experienced occultly within an esoteric development, reveals that it owes its existence to the least extent to the etheric forces surrounding the Earth. One might say: the final touch to our hearing organ was given by the etheric forces surrounding the Earth; but this organ of hearing has been treated by these etheric forces surrounding the Earth in such a way that they have not actually made it more perfect, but rather less so; for these etheric forces surrounding the Earth can only act upon the ear by being active in the air and constantly encountering resistance in the air.

[ 8 ] Therefore, although this may sound paradoxical, one can say: A much finer organization that once existed has been corrupted on Earth within our organ of hearing. And then, at this stage, it becomes clear even through personal experience to the developing anthroposophist that he already brought the ear, the entire hearing organ, with him to Earth when he made his way from the ancient Moon to Earth; indeed, that this hearing organ was much more perfect on the ancient Moon than it is on Earth. One gradually learns to feel this in relation to the ear—one might say, if one wishes to use paradoxical expressions—that one could become melancholic in its presence, because the ear belongs to those organs whose entire structure bears witness to past perfections. And whoever gradually draws near to the experiences just briefly hinted at will understand the occultist, who, admittedly, draws his knowledge from even deeper forces, the occultist who tells him: On the ancient Moon, the ear had a much greater significance for human beings than it does today. Back then, the ear existed, as it were, to live entirely within the music of the spheres that still resounded on the Moon in a certain sense. And in response to these sounds—the tones of the music of the spheres that still resounded on the Moon, albeit faintly compared to earlier times—the ear behaved in such a way that it absorbed them. It was, so to speak, always immersed in music on the old Moon by virtue of its perfection at that time. This music was still communicated to the entire human organism on the old Moon; the musical waves still permeated the human organism on the old Moon, and the inner life of the human being on the old Moon was a sharing in the entire musical environment, an attunement to the entire musical environment; the ear was a communicative organ for internally imitating those movements that resounded externally as the music of the spheres. On the old Moon, human beings still felt like a kind of instrument on which the cosmos played with its forces, and the ears, in their perfection at that time, were the mediators between the players of the cosmos and the instrument of the human organism on the old Moon. Thus, the present structure of the hearing organ serves as a kind of reminder, and one associates with it the idea that, through a kind of corruption of the hearing organ, humanity has become incapable of experiencing the music of the spheres, that it has emancipated itself, and that it could only capture this music of the spheres in what is today’s music, which, after all, can only play out within the air that surrounds the Earth.

[ 9 ] Experiences also arise in relation to other senses; but they do become increasingly indistinct, and it would not be very meaningful to pursue these experiences in relation to other sense organs for the simple reason that it is difficult to shed light on these changes—which take place in them through esoteric development—using ordinary human concepts. What significance, for example, would it have in relation to what a person can experience on Earth today if we were to speak of the sense of language—I do not mean the sense for speaking. For those who have heard the lectures on “Anthroposophy” in Berlin, it is already known that there is a distinct sense of language. Just as there is a sense of sound, so there is a distinct sense—one that has an organ only within and not without—for the perception of the spoken word itself. This sense has been corrupted even further; it has been corrupted to such an extent that today, in essence, only a final echo remains of what this sense of language was, for example, on the ancient Moon. On the old Moon, what has today become the sense of language—the understanding of words among our fellow human beings—served to consciously empathize with the entire surroundings through imaginative consciousness, so as to circle the old Moon, as it were. The movements one made, the way one found one’s bearings, were dictated by the sense of language on the old Moon. One only gradually comes to know this kind of experience of the sense of language when one gradually acquires a sense of the inner value of the vowels and consonants—as this inner value of the vowels and consonants is perceived in the mantric phrases. But this is, after all, only a faint echo of what the sense of language once was, to which the earthly human being can generally rise in this realm.

[ 10 ] So you see, my dear friends, how the human being gradually becomes attuned to the perception of his etheric body; how that which he, as it were, casts aside in his occult development—the activity of the physical senses—is replaced on the other side by leading him into the perception of the etheric body. But it is peculiar: these perceptions of the etheric body, which have just been discussed, we feel them, when we experience them, as if they did not quite belong to us, as if they were—as I said—drilled into us from the outside. We feel the light body as if bored into us; we feel something like a musical movement inaudible on Earth being bored into us through our ear; we do not, however, feel the warmth ether as if bored into us, but rather as permeating us; and we learn to feel the activity of the chemical ether working within us for the deactivated sense of taste, and so on. So here we are already at the point where, compared to the state one calls normal, the human being feels his etheric body transformed, as if plugs were being driven into it from the outside.

[ 11 ] But now the human being is gradually beginning to perceive his etheric body more directly. The most noticeable change taking place in the etheric body—and one that may be quite unpleasant for some to experience, since it is not recognized as a change in the etheric body, though it certainly is one—consists in the fact that esoteric development makes itself very clearly felt, so to speak, in one’s own body, as the power of memory initially wanes somewhat. What one usually calls memory almost always undergoes a downgrade through esoteric development. One’s memory initially becomes weaker. Anyone who does not want to have a poorer memory simply cannot undergo esoteric development. In particular, the aspect of memory that ceases to be strongly active is what can be called mechanical memory—the kind that is most highly developed in people during childhood and adolescence, and which is usually what is meant when people speak of memory. And quite a few esotericists will have cause to complain about the decline of their memory. For one can notice this quite soon; in any case, much earlier than one perceives the subtle truths that have now been expounded, one notices this decline in memory. But just as one can never suffer harm to one’s physical body, even though it becomes more agile when one embarks on the proper anthroposophical development, so too can one seriously not suffer harm in the long run, not even with regard to memory. One must simply strive to do what is right.

[ 12 ] With regard to physical organization—as the outer body becomes more mobile and its internal organs become more independent, making it harder to bring them into harmony than before—one must strengthen oneself internally. This is achieved through the six exercises described in the second part of my *Esoteric Science*. Those who perform these exercises properly will find that they gain enough inner strength to keep the more mobile physical body in order, even as they lose strength through esoteric development. As for memory, we must also take the right approach. The memory that serves our outer life is bound to be lost; but we need not suffer any harm if we take care to develop more interest in everything that concerns us in life—deeper interest, greater engagement—than we were accustomed to before. We must begin to take an emotional interest in the things that are significant to us. Previously, we developed a more mechanical memory, and this mechanical memory sometimes works quite reliably even when one does not particularly love the things one wants to remember; but that ceases. One will notice, in fact, that when undergoing an anthroposophical or esoteric development, one easily forgets things. They simply fly away—the things in which one has no emotional interest, which one cannot grow to love, with which one does not, so to speak, grow together spiritually. On the other hand, what one grows together with spiritually sticks all the better. One must therefore try to bring about this spiritual growing together in a downright systematic way.

[ 13 ] One can observe the following phenomenon: Suppose a person, in their youth, before they had come into contact with anthroposophy—perhaps while reading a novel—could not forget that novel at all; they could recount it over and over again. Now, later on, after they have entered into the anthroposophical path, they read a novel. Often it is quickly forgotten; it cannot be retold. But if one takes a book—one that one has told oneself, or been told, is valuable—and proceeds in such a way that one reads it through once, then immediately afterward attempts to repeat it in one’s mind, and one does not merely repeat it, but goes from back to front, the last things first and the first last, repeating oneself; if one takes the trouble to go through specific details a second time; if one thus grows together with the subject; if one even takes a piece of paper and writes down brief thoughts from it; and if one tries to ask oneself the question: From which aspect can you take a particular interest in this subject? — then one will see that in this way one cultivates a different kind of memory. It is not the same memory. One notices the difference clearly when one makes use of it. When one makes use of mechanical memory, things enter our soul as memories; when one cultivates a memory in this way—as has now been described—systematically as an esotericist or anthroposophist, it is as if the things one has lived through in this manner had remained frozen in time. One learns, as it were, to look back in time, and it is truly as if one were looking out upon what has been observed; indeed, one will notice that things become increasingly pictorial, that memory becomes ever more and more imaginative. If one has done what has just been described with a book, then, when necessary, one need only, to bring the matter before the soul again, to touch upon something related to it; one will then, as it were, look back to the moment when one was engaged with the book; one will see oneself reading. It is not the memory that comes: the entire image rises up; one will then be able to notice that, whereas before one merely read in the book, now the things actually rise up. One looks at them as if from a temporal distance; memory becomes a beholding of images that stand at a temporal distance.

[ 14 ] This is, in fact, the very first step—albeit the most basic one—toward gradually learning to read the Akashic Records: memory is replaced by learning to read the past. And sometimes, someone who has undergone a certain esoteric development may have lost their memory almost entirely, yet it does them no harm, because they see things running backward. To the extent that they were connected to them, they see them with particular clarity. I will tell you something here that anyone outside of anthroposophy, when told, will simply laugh at and can only laugh at, because they cannot make any sense of it at all when some esotericist tells them they no longer have a memory, yet they know quite well what has happened, because they see it in the past. Then the other person says: “Hey, listen, you have an excellent memory!”—because he has no concept of the transformation that has taken place. And this is precisely something that is based on a transformation in the etheric body.

[ 15 ] However, this transformation of memory is usually connected to something else; it is connected to the fact that, in a sense, a kind of new assessment of our inner self also takes place. For we cannot adopt this retrospective perspective without at the same time taking a certain stance toward what we have experienced. Thus, the person who later looks back on something he has treated in the manner described earlier regarding the book—if he sees himself in it—will naturally have to judge whether it was wise or foolish of him to have engaged in that particular activity. And a kind of self-assessment is inevitably and strongly linked to this retrospective view as a distinct experience. One cannot help but take a stance toward one’s past: one will reproach oneself regarding one thing, one will be glad that one succeeded in another; in short, one will be unable to do anything other than judge the past that one thus views in retrospect. So that one indeed becomes a sharper judge of oneself, namely of one’s past life. One feels, so to speak, the etheric body stirring within oneself—which, after all, contains the entire past when viewed in retrospect after death—one feels this etheric body as an inclusion within oneself, as something that lives within one and constitutes one’s very essence. Indeed, such a transformation takes place with the etheric body that one often feels the urge to engage in such self-reflection; that one looks back on this or that in order to learn, in a wholly natural way, to assess one’s value as a human being. Whereas one usually lives without perceiving it, the etheric body is now, as it were, perceived in the retrospective view of one’s own life. One’s own life will gradually become a burden when undergoing esoteric development. One must face the fact that the esoteric life, so to speak, becomes a burden, that one is compelled to look more closely at one’s merits and faults, at one’s errors and imperfections.

[ 16 ] But something deeper, which is connected to the etheric body, becomes perceptible, so to speak—something that was perceptible before as well, but not to such a degree. This is the temperament. And in the seriously developing esotericist, the greater sensitivity, the greater receptivity to one’s own temperament, is based on the transformation of the etheric body. Let us take, to highlight a specific case where this can become particularly vivid, the melancholic. When the melancholic—who has not become an esotericist, who has not come into contact with anthroposophy, who goes through the world in such a way that many things in the world make him morose, that many things provoke his overly disparaging criticism, that things affect him so deeply that they evoke his sympathy and antipathy more strongly than is the case, for example, with the phlegmatic—when such a melancholic, with all his characteristics, from that point onward where he is a “too repulsive” person, grumpy, dismissive of the whole world, contemptuous and hateful, to the extent that he is only slightly more sensitive to the perceptions of the world—there are, of course, all intermediate stages and nuances—well, when such a melancholic enters into an esoteric development, then his temperament essentially becomes the foundation for perceiving the etheric body. The system of forces causing his melancholy becomes sensitive to him, clearly perceptible within himself, and whereas he previously directed his dissatisfaction merely against the external impressions of the world, he now begins to turn this dissatisfaction against himself.

[ 17 ] It is essential that, in the course of esoteric development, self-knowledge be carefully cultivated, and that the esoteric seeker be encouraged to practice this self-knowledge, which enables him to accept such a change—becoming melancholic—with calm and composure. Just as the world was often repugnant to them in the past, they will come to find themselves repugnant; they will begin to criticize themselves, so that one can see how nothing about themselves is right to them. One can only judge these things correctly, my dear friends, if one perceives what is called temperament in the right way in human beings. A melancholic is, after all, only a melancholic because the melancholic temperament predominates in him; for, fundamentally speaking, every human being possesses all four temperaments in his soul. A melancholic is, in certain respects, also phlegmatic, in others sanguine, and in still others choleric; it is just that, so to speak, the melancholic temperament stands out more prominently than the phlegmatic, sanguine, and choleric ones. And a phlegmatic person is not someone who lacks all other temperaments and possesses only the phlegmatic one, but rather the phlegmatic temperament predominates in them, while the other temperaments remain more in the background and underlying depths of their soul. And so it is with the other temperaments as well.

[ 18 ] Just as the change in the etheric body of the pronounced melancholic occurs in such a way that he, so to speak, turns his melancholy against himself, so too do changes and new sensations emerge in relation to the other temperamental qualities. But through wise self-knowledge in the course of esoteric development, one can reach a point where one repairs the damage that may have been caused by the dominant temperament; where one begins to perceive to a greater degree that this damage can be repaired by bringing about changes in the other temperaments as well; such changes that, as it were, balance out the primary change associated with the most prominent temperament. One need only recognize how these changes manifest in relation to the other temperaments.

[ 19 ] Let us suppose that a phlegmatic person becomes an esotericist—it will be difficult to persuade him to do so; but let us suppose that he can be persuaded to become a quite good esotericist. It is by no means impossible to achieve this, because the phlegmatic person is sometimes, when receiving strong impressions, powerless against certain impressions; so that sometimes the phlegmatic temperament, if it has not been too deeply eroded by materialism, is not at all a bad prerequisite for esoteric development; it must simply come to the fore in a more noble way, so to speak, than in the grotesque sense in which one often sees the phlegmatic temperament alone. When such a phlegmatic person becomes an esotericist, the phlegmatic temperament changes in a peculiar way. The phlegmatic person then has a very strong tendency to observe themselves quite well, and it causes them, so to speak, the least distress to observe themselves in this way; and therefore the phlegmatic temperament is not a bad prerequisite for esoteric development, if it can take place, because they are then quite suited to a certain calm self-observation. Unlike the melancholic, he is not agitated by everything he perceives in himself; and as a result, when he engages in self-observation, it generally goes even deeper than the self-observation of the melancholic, who is held back everywhere by his rage against himself. Therefore, when the phlegmatic person undergoes spiritual development, he is, so to speak, the best student for serious anthroposophical development.

[ 20 ] Now, every person possesses all the temperaments within themselves, and—as I said—in the melancholic, only the melancholic temperament predominates. For example, the phlegmatic temperament is also present within them. One can always find aspects of the melancholic where they reveal themselves as a phlegmatic in relation to this or that matter. One must now try, when the melancholic person becomes an esotericist and one can guide them in some way, one must try—while on the one hand they will certainly begin to be very hard on themselves, so that self-reproach constantly arises—to direct their attention toward the things toward which they had previously been phlegmatic. One must try to arouse his interest in things he was not interested in before. If one succeeds in this, then one effectively neutralizes the damage caused by melancholy.

[ 21 ] The sanguine person becomes a peculiar kind of esotericist, characterized in their outer life by the fact that they easily rush from one impression to the next and are reluctant to hold on to any single impression. For he undergoes a very peculiar transformation through the metamorphosis of his etheric body; the moment he attempts to do so, or when someone else attempts to teach him esotericism, he becomes a phlegmatic toward his own inner self; so that, under certain circumstances, the sanguine type is initially the least suitable material for esoteric development, given his temperament. When the sanguine person comes to esotericism or to the anthroposophical life—and he comes to it very often, for he is interested in all sorts of things, including, at times, though not intensely, in anthroposophy or esotericism; it just doesn’t last long—then he must come to a kind of self-observation; but he takes it all in with great indifference; he does not like to look within himself. This or that aspect of himself does interest him, but it doesn’t go particularly deep. He discovers all sorts of interesting qualities in himself, but he is immediately satisfied with them; and he quite likes to talk about this interesting quality, but soon forgets the whole thing again, including what he has observed in himself. And among those who approach esotericism out of a momentary interest and who soon turn away from it again, there are predominantly sanguine natures.

[ 22 ] Tomorrow we will try to clarify what I am explaining in words today by sketching the etheric body on the blackboard; we will then draw the changes in the etheric body resulting from anthroposophical or esoteric development.

[ 23 ] The situation is quite different with the choleric temperament. In the case of the choleric person, it will be almost impossible—or at least only in the rarest of cases—to turn him into an esotericist; he will be characterized precisely by the fact that, when the choleric temperament is particularly pronounced in him as a personality, he rejects all esotericism and wants nothing to do with it. It may, however, be the case that, due to karmic circumstances, the choleric person may at some point be brought into contact with esotericism; in that case, he will find it difficult to bring about changes in his etheric body; for this etheric body proves to be particularly dense and difficult to influence in the choleric person. In the melancholic, the etheric body is—one might say—forgive the trivial comparison, but it will make what I mean clear—in the melancholic, the etheric body is like a rubber ball from which the air has been blown out: if you make a dent in it, it remains for a long time. In the choleric person, the etheric body is like a rubber ball that is completely filled with air; if one tries to make an indentation in it, not only does it not retain the indentation, but it pushes one back quite forcefully. Thus, the etheric body of the choleric person is unyielding and gnarled.

[ 24 ] For this reason, the choleric person finds it very difficult to transform the etheric body. He cannot reach within himself. Consequently, he rejects esoteric development—which is precisely intended to transform him—from the outset; he cannot, so to speak, get a hold of himself. But when the seriousness of life or certain circumstances confront the choleric person, or when one has a temperament that carries a subtle melancholic undertone yet is fundamentally choleric at heart, then it is precisely through this melancholic nuance that the choleric person can develop their choleric trait within their human organism in such a way that they now work with all their mighty strength on their resistant etheric body. And when he then succeeds in bringing about changes in his etheric body, he thereby develops a very special quality within himself: through his esoteric development, he becomes more capable than other people of properly and accurately presenting external facts in their causal or historical context. And whoever can appreciate good historiography—which, as a rule, is not exactly produced by esotericists— but whoever can appreciate good historiography, which truly lets the facts speak for themselves, will at least find the beginning, the unconscious, instinctive beginning of what the esotericist, who has choleric tendencies within them, could achieve precisely as a historian, narrator, or chronicler. People such as Tacitus, for example, were at the beginning of such an instinctive esoteric development. Hence Tacitus’s wonderful, incomparable portrayal. And the esotericist who reads Tacitus knows that this peculiar style of historiography stems from a very special integration of a choleric temperament into the etheric body. But this becomes particularly evident when we have artists who have undergone an esoteric development. Even if the outer world does not believe it, this is nevertheless the case with Homer. Homer owes his vivid, grandiose depiction to the choleric temperament that has worked its way into his etheric body. And so much more could be shown in this area that already in outer life serves, as it were, as proof or at least evidence that the choleric person, especially when undergoing an esoteric development, becomes capable of inwardly representing the world in its reality, in its causal connections. When the choleric individual undergoes esoteric development, his representations are such that—one might say—even in their external structure they bear the character of truth and truthfulness.

[ 25 ] Thus we see that the changes in the etheric body particularly reflect, so to speak, human life, which becomes more perceptible in its current form in this incarnation than is usually the case. Furthermore, in esoteric development, the temperaments become more perceptible, and taking the temperaments into account in true self-knowledge is of very special significance. We will speak further about these things tomorrow.