Sometimes I take an online personality quiz for fun. It isn’t a good idea. Even flattering results leave me discouraged; I question the quiz’s authority but can’t talk back to it.
Of course some quizzes are meant for amusement, but others pretend to reveal some truth about your nature–even in ten or fewer questions. They even claim a scientific basis.
Here’s where such quizzes miss the mark. First, their claims far exceed their capabilities; they are crude instruments, yet their authors suggest that they can tell you something useful. There’s an inherent discrepancy between the pretension and the actual capability of such a quiz.
Second, the assumed categories (such as personality types) have inherent limitations. Such quizzes, by their very contents, tell only part of the truth. You might find out that you are “an” introvert when in fact you have a mixture of introverted and extraverted tendencies. (Now that Jonathan Cheek and colleagues are positing four kinds of introverts, there are quizzes to tell you which kind you are, as though you had to be one.)
Third, many such quizzes ask you what is “usually” true, when in fact your exceptions may play a large role in your life. For instance, I score low on neuroticism tests, because I do not worry much on the whole. When I do worry about something, I though, I can worry intensely. A quiz’s emphasis on “usual” or “average” behavior doesn’t capture this.
Fourth, the multiple-choice options may not apply to you at all. Sometimes they are directed at a different demographic from yours. Sometimes the authors didn’t consider all the possibilities. I find myself choosing the “least wrong” option instead of one that really suits me.
Fifth, many responses are contextual. Whether or not I enjoy a party really depends on the party. Whether I feel energized by others’ company depends largely on who they are and what else is going on. Sometimes it isn’t possible to give a true general response, yet the quiz requires it.
Sixth, the quiz may rest on shaky theoretical principles. For example, the MBTI was once standard fare but has come under heavy criticism. I will not be surprised if other tests come to a similar end.
Seventh, a questionnaire of this sort has value only when the results are analyzed intelligently. Doctors give questionnaires to help them with preliminary diagnoses; they treat the responses as a starting point, not the last word. No questionnaire should stand on its own as an arbiter of human nature.
Eighth, none of this comes close to the descriptions and characterizations found in literature. No personality test can approximate Pushkin’s poet, Melville’s Ahab, Gogol’s Chichikov, or Bellow’s Tamkin. The difference? In literature, you meet characters who may remind you of people you know, including yourself, but at the same time resemble no one. They let you do the same; when reading, you can find both affinity and liberty; you wake up into imagination.
Psychology has much to offer, but its quizzes tend toward hubris. Annie Murphy Paul says it well in The Cult of Personality Testing: “Personality tests take wildly different forms–questionnaires, inkblots, stories, drawings, dolls–but all make the same promise: to reduce our complicated, contradictory, changeable selves to a tidy label. These tests claim to measure not what we know, but what we’re like; not what we can do, but who we are.”
Even if they seem just silly, they make their way into workplaces, schools, and language. They play to the desire for “interactive” science and quick results; it seems cool to go online, take a test, and find something out about yourself in five minutes. They are basically the candy of self-knowledge, candy that too often gets served up as the main course.
Self-knowledge is much more than “I am this” and “I am that.” It requires long study of things outside the self; it requires participation in the world. A series of clicks won’t get you there.