Measuring Personality: Crash Course Psychology #22


How would you describe your personality? Maybe
friendly, creative, quirky? What about nervous, or timid, or outgoing? But has anyone ever
called you a sanguine? What about a Kapha, or full of metal? Ancient Greek physician
Hippocrates believed personality manifested itself in four different humors, and, basically,
you are who you are because of your balance of phlegm, blood, and yellow and black bile. According to traditional Chinese medicine,
our personalities depend on the balance of five elements: Earth, Wind, Water, Metal and
Fire. Those who practice traditional Hindu Ayurvedic Medicine view each other as unique
combinations of three different mind-body principles called Doshas. But Sigmund Freud
thought our personalities depended in part on who was winning the battle of urges between
the Id, Ego, and Superego. Meanwhile, humanistic psychologist Abraham Maslow suggested that
the key to self-actualization was first successfully climbing a hierarchy of more basic needs.
And then, you’ve got your BuzzFeed quizzes to determine what kind of pirate, or font,
or sandwich, or Harry Potter character you are, but, that, I would never take one of
those seriously. All this is to say that people have been characterizing
one another for a long, long time, and whether you’re into blood, or bile, or ego, or id,
or BLT, or PB&J, there are a lot of ways to describe and measure a personality. And all
these theories, all the years of research, and cigar smoking, and inkblot gazing, and
the fans debating whether they’re more of a Luke or a Leia, they’re all funneling down
to one big central question. Who, or what, is the self? [Intro] Last week we talked about how psychologists
often study personality by examining the differences between characteristics, and by looking at
how these various characteristics combine to create a whole thinking, feeling person.
The early psychoanalytic and humanistic theorists had a lot of ideas about personality, but
some psychologists question their lack of clearly measurable standards. Like, there
was no way to really quantify someone’s inkblot response, or how orally fixated they might
be. So this drive to find a more empirical approach spawned two more popular theories
in the twentieth century, known as the trait and social cognitive perspectives. Instead of focusing on things like lingering
unconscious influences or missed growth opportunities, trait theory researchers look to define personality
through stable and lasting behavior patterns and conscious motivations. Legend has it that it all began in 1919, when
young American psychologist Gordon Allport paid a visit to none other than Freud himself.
Allport was telling Freud about his journey there on the train, and how there was this
little boy who was obsessed with staying clean and didn’t want to sit next to anyone or touch
anything. Allport wondered if the boy’s mother had a kind of dirt phobia that had rubbed
off on him. So yadda yadda yadda, he’s telling his tale, and at the end of it Freud looks
at him and says, “Mhmm.. Was that little boy you?” Allport was basically like, “No, man,
that was just some kid on the train. Don’t try to make this into some big unconscious
episode from my repressed childhood”. Allport thought Freud was digging a little
too deep, and that sometimes you just need to look at motives in the present, not the
past, to describe behavior. So Allport started his own club, describing personality in terms
of fundamental traits, or characteristic behaviors and conscious motives. He wasn’t so much interested
in explaining traits as he was in describing them. Modern trait researchers like Robert
McCrae and Paul Costa have since organized our fundamental characteristics into what’s
casually known as The Big Five: openness, conscientiousness, extroversion, agreeableness,
and neuroticism, which you can remember using the mnemonic OCEAN, or CANOE, whichever one
you prefer. Each of these traits exist on a spectrum, so, for example, your level of
openness can range, on one end, from being totally open to new things and variety, or
wanting strict, regular routine on the other end. Your degree of conscientiousness can
translate into being impulsive and careless, or careful and disciplined. Someone high on
the extroversion end will be sociable, while those on the low end will be shy and reserved.
A very agreeable person, meanwhile, is helpful and trusting, while someone at the opposite
end may be suspicious or uncooperative. And finally, on the neuroticism spectrum, an emotionally
stable person will be calm and secure, while a less stable person is often anxious, insecure,
and self-pitying. The important idea here is that these traits
are hypothesized to predict behavior and attitude. Like an introvert might prefer communicating
through e-mail more than an extrovert, and an agreeable person is much more likely to
help their neighbor move that couch than a suspicious one who’s just glaring through
the window. By adulthood, trait theorists will tell you these characteristics are pretty
stable, but it isn’t to say that they can’t flex a little in different situations. Like
that same shy person might end up singing Elvis karaoke in a room full of people under
the right conditions. So our personality traits are better at predicting our average behavior
that what we’d do in any specific situation, and research indicates that some traits, like
neuroticism, seem to be better predictors of behavior than others. This flexibility that we all seem to have
leads to the fourth major theory on personality, the social cognitive perspective. Originally
proposed by our Bobo-beating friend Alfred Bandura, the social cognitive school emphasizes
the interaction between our traits and their social context. Bandura noted that we learn
a lot of our behavior by watching and imitating others. That’s the social part of the equation.
But we also think a lot about how these social interactions affect our behavior, which is
the cognitive part. So, in this way, people and their situations basically work together
to create behavior. Bandura referred to this sort of interplay as reciprocal determinism.
Meaning, that for example, the kind of books you read or music you listen to or friends
you hang out with say something about your personality, because different people choose
to be in different environments, and then those environments in turn continue to reinforce
our personalities. So if Bernice has a kind of anxious-suspicious
personality, and she has a serious, titanic crush on Sherlock Holmes, she might be extra
attuned to potentially dangerous or fishy situations. But the more she sees the world
in that way, the more anxious and suspicious she gets. In this way, we’re both the creators
and the products of the situations we surround ourselves with. That’s why one of the key indicators of personality
in this school of thought has to do with our sense of personal control — that is, the
extent to which you perceive that you have control over your environment. Someone who
believes that they control their own fate, or make their own luck, is said to have an
internal locus of control, while those who feel like they’re just guided by forces beyond
their control are said to have an external locus. Now whether we’re talking about control
versus helplessness, introversion versus extroversion, calm versus anxious, or whatever, each of
these different personality perspectives have their own methods of testing and measuring
personality. We’ve talked before about how the psychoanalyst super-hunk Hermann Rorschach
used his inkblot test to infer information about a person’s personality; we know that
Freud used dream analysis, and both he and Young were both fans of free association,
but the broader school of theorists, now known as the psycho-dynamic camp that descended
from Freud and pals, also use other projective psychological tests, including the famous
thematic apperception test. In this kind of test, you’d be presented with
evocative but ambiguous pictures, and then asked to provide information about them. You
might be asked to tell a story about the scenes, considering things like how are the characters
feeling, or what’s going on, or what happened before this event and what will happen after.
Like check it out, is the woman crying because her brother just died, or from a bee sting?
Or is she a maid laughing because some royal just passed out drunk on his bed, or perhaps
the object of her long-burning affection has just confessed his love in a fever haze all
Jane Austen-style and she’s having a mini-breakdown in the hall?! The idea is that your responses
will reveal something about your concerns and motivations in real life, or how you see
the world, or about your unconscious processes that drive you. By contrast with that approach, though, modern
trait personality researchers believe that you can assess personality traits by having
people answer a series of test questions. There are lots of so-called personality trait
inventories out there. Some provide a quick reading on a particular enduring trait, like
anxiety or self-esteem, while other gauge a wide range of traits, like our friends The
Big Five. These tests, like the Myers-Briggs, which you might have heard of, involve long
questionnaires of true-false or agree-disagree questions like, “Do you enjoy being the center
of attention?”, “Do you find it easy to empathize with others?”, or “Do you value justice over
mercy?” But the classic Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory is probably the most
widely used personality test. The most recent version asks a series of five hundred and
sixty-seven true-false questions, varying from “No one seems to understand me” to “I
like mechanics magazines” to “I loved my father”, and is often used to identify emotional disorders. Then there’s how Bandura’s social cognitive
camp sizes you up. Because this school of thought emphasizes the interaction of environment
and behavior rather than just traits alone, they aren’t solely into questions and answers.
Instead, they might measure personality in different contexts, understanding behavior
in one situation is best predicted by how you acted in a similar situation. Like, if
Bernice freaked out and tried to hide under the bed during the last five thunderstorms,
we can predict that she will do that again next time. And if we conducted a controlled
lab experiment where we, say, we looked at the effects of thunderstorm noises on people’s
behavior, we might get an even better sense of what baseline psychological factors could
best predict storm-induced freak-outs. And finally, there are the Humanistic theorists
like Maslow. They often reject standardized assessments altogether. Instead, they tend
to measure your self-concept through therapy, interviews, and questionnaires that ask subjects
to describe both how they would ideally like to be and how they actually are. The idea
is that the closer the actual and ideal are, the more positive the subject’s sense of self. Which brings us back to that biggest motherlode
question of them all: Who, or what, is the self? All the books out there about self-esteem,
self-help, self-awareness, self-control, and so on are built upon one assumption: that
the self is the organizer of our thoughts and feelings and actions: essentially the
center of a personality. But of course, it’s a sticky issue. One way to think about self
is through the concept of possible selves, like your ideal self, perhaps devastatingly
attractive and intelligent, successful, and well-loved, as well as your most feared self,
the one who could end up unemployed and lonely and rundown. This balance of potential best
and worst selves motivates us through life. In the end, once you factor in environment
and childhood experiences, culture and all that mess, not to mention biology which we
haven’t even touched on today, can we really firmly define self? Or answer certainly that
we even have one? That, my friend, is one of life’s biggest questions, and so far it
has yet to be universally answered. But you learned a lot anyway today, right?
As we talked about the trait and social cognitive perspectives, and also about different ways
these schools and others measure and test personality. We also talked about what self
is, and how our self-esteem works. Thanks for watching, especially to our Subbable subscribers
who make Crash Course possible. To find out how you can become a supporter, just go to
subbable.com/crashcourse. This episode was written by Kathleen Yale, edited by Blake
de Pastino, and our consultant is Dr. Ranji Bhagwat. Our director and editor is Nicholas
Jenkins, and the script supervisor is Michael Aranda, who is also our sound designer, and
the graphics team is Thought Cafe.