Personality tests are something of an enthusiastic hobby of mine. “Which Character of [fictional work] Are You?” “What’s your type according to [system categorizing personalities]?” I used to eat those things up with a voracity bordering on addiction. They were fun and interesting for an analytic mind. At least, I fancy myself as such.
Eventually, I began to get just a little disillusioned. As I got older I found that most of the online quizzes for my favorite shows and games had about as much depth as a backyard creek. That realization tends to inspire doubt as to whether these folks writing up the quizzes are qualified in any way to accurately lump you in with other characters or people. Still, occasionally, a really well-written quiz would come along that put thought into its associations and had algorithms just a little more complicated than an elementary schooler could crack with some trial and error (“if you answered mostly ‘C’…”).
One day, though, I discovered the Barnum Effect. Wow. To think that any given personality test or system could be engineered to spit out results that people taking it wouldn’t even think to disagree with. What a handy little trick, said I, but I’m wise to it now. I put very little stock in online personality tests from then on. Not that I had ever sworn and lived by them, mind, but knowing that they were all bunk sort of ruined the experience for me altogether.
Eventually I got over myself. These days I like them for the sheer fun factor rather than any realistic fascination about the psychological implications. I’d like to think I’ve found the balance between mindless cranial osmosis and painful overanalysis when I say that a good personality test may not rely on the science of the thing, but it can still be instructive and build self-awareness.
Personality tests are probably not usually accurate or specific as a rule, but what they can be is indicators of some truths via parallel. Many of them have headlines like “Who Are You?” When you compare yourself to characters in stories, when you identify with them or despise them, you’re often looking in a mirror. Even if you blatantly disagree with the result of that online quiz, it can often be telling to think about why. Sometimes what you don’t like in others drives this disagreement. “I would never be like that, it’s horrifying.” Or, sometimes what you don’t like in yourself is more to the point. “I can’t be like that, it’s horrifying.” But it’s not all through the mirror darkly. Relating to your heroes feels good, right? It’s also about knowing that even a soulless test on a computer can see that you have the qualities you take pride in, and affirm them. “Barnum? Sounds like a schmuck to me. Look, this thing here says I’m Superman!”
But I think what these tests actually have the potential to make you ask yourself is “who have you been?” or “who can you be?” Now, that sounded mighty existential and probably a tad pretentious. What I mean is this: stories are different from life because they’re removed from time – the best ones we pile the awards onto with words like “timeless.” As we see the characters in them grow, we don’t just travel across to their world. We travel back – back in time to when we had the same struggles and got through them, somehow. And we travel forward – forward to what we can know is true for these characters even as we doubt the outcome for ourselves. A good character can inspire hope for your own future, or set off a warning. But whichever direction we go, we’re removed from our own fixed position and through a top-down view of someone else’s timeline (actually, that reminds me a little of Facebook stalking, go figure), we hope for clues to our own.
This is literally the entire purpose of many stories in the history of human society. “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” is an ironic tragedy, sure, but first and foremost it’s seen as a lesson. Granted, “adult” stories and the characters in them tend to be written more subtle. but the principle abides. Literature is classified in the “humanities” because humanity is what it reveals. Who you are and aren’t, or who you wish you were or weren’t can be shown to you through characters.
Next time you’re about to dismiss the idea that you “are” a character, don’t do it on the basis that some cheesy Internet quiz says so. Let yourself relate – or not. And if you’re not that character, then who?
PS: I’m an ISFJ. I’m happy to lump myself in with John Watson and Samwise Gamgee.
Gems and Relics 