Personality tests are an abundant byproduct of various attempts to classify behavior and tendencies, and pin underlying reasons on them.
C. S. Lewis commented that as life forms approach perfection, they become dissimilar from each other. A fawn becomes a bull elk; kitty becomes a lion; a guppy becomes a shark; a puppy becomes a wolf. Each begins as an almost identical fetus, and ends as a unique masterpiece with gifts to thrive in its own natural element. Variety and beauty are intertwined in nature, and nature contains all manner of fish, fowl, bird, land animal, predator, herbivore, and everything else imaginable.
People are no exception to this. Though our DNA is almost identical, the billions of humans on the earth present a wide variety of appearances, traits, behaviors, thought patterns, languages, customs, etc. Each family is almost a microcosm of this, with each child eliciting different ways of thinking and being. When talents are developed, some become warriors, others peacemakers, or teachers, or farmers, or artisans and craftsmen, or poets. We seem to belong to the same category as animals, becoming what we were meant to be by diverging greatly along different developmental trajectories.
Now comes the confusion and bitterness—why is Sally so pretty, and I so homely? Why is Mark so smart, while I am so dull? Why is James so outgoing, while I am so backwardly shy? It seems that we, unlike animals, envy those who are different from ourselves. We are often discontent to fill the sphere or element in which our abilities predispose us to operate. Fish who want to fly, and birds who want to swim.
Furthermore, not only are we jealous of each others' abilities, we also have good reason to long for improvement and change: we are promised to have everything our Father in heaven has. We are not static beings. Every spirit God has sent into the world is susceptible of enlargement, Joseph Smith taught us.
Accurate Mirrors or Wacky Thermometers?
Personality tests, like medical tests, can present us with a grim picture of who we are. Answer a battery of redundant questions, and voila, we are suddenly in categories we might not be proud of. (One woman was disgruntled to learn about her child's temperament: "My daughter is not an introvert! She's a beautiful girl!") Do such tests help people learn about and cope with what is, or do they shape the people and obscure possibilities by limiting what they may try to accomplish? Both probably happen.
Personality tests tell us as much about their authors as they do about humanity. They reveal the core values of those who contrived them, as well as those of society at large. Take introversion, for example. There is hardly a personality test that does not incorporate this aspect of the human psyche. What causes introversion or extroversion? One theory presented to me by a college professor shed a great deal of light on the subject for me.
He suggested that everyone's brain needs to produce a certain number of brainwaves per second to function normally. Braincells fire signals to each other, causing a cascade of firing from one braincell to the next. Imagine dominoes knocking each other over, only to rise again and await the next wave of being knocked down. Action potential is the amount of energy needed to cause a braincell to fire and pass along a signal. The amount of action potential required varies from brain to brain. In some people, it requires a lot of stimulus to get braincells to fire, while others require very little. Imagine dominoes on a sticky floor. It requires an extra push to get all those dominoes to fall. That is an extrovert's brain—requiring a great deal of stimulus to maintain that normal level of brainwaves. (Imagine a car that needs a little pressure on the gas pedal to keep the engine from cutting out when stopped.) Introverts' braincells fire more easily, and so they maintain that ideal brainwaves per second with little stimulus. No raucous music or partying is necessary to keep them humming along. Extroverts require a lot of stimulus to feel well; introverts require significantly less. Imagine putting your foot on the gas pedal of a car in neutral. The violent roar of the engine is indicative of damage, not proper function; noise and parties and heavy stimuli do this to introverts on an emotional level. It is just too much for ideal function.
An extrovert is someone who gains energy from high-stimulus events and large, loud, social activities. An introvert is someone who is drained by such high-stimulus activities, and is energized by what happens in solitude or peaceful, contemplative moments. Being shy is different from being extroverted; shyness is fear of people, which anyone can have, whether introverted or extroverted. I am an introvert, yet I feel more comfortable in front of a large crowd giving a talk or presentation than I do when confronting a few strangers or trying to strike up small talk at a party. Why? Because giving a presentation is something that consistently causes me to experience joy. The ideas themselves are the important thing in that setting. By contrast, small talk is meta-communication, conveying regard for people by making faces at them or increasing the number of words one uses. It is not what you say, but the quantity of words and the non-verbal communications accompanying them that matter. I dislike this kind of communication because I am bad at it. So I prefer five hundred people to five. This is in harmony with my introversion, rather than a contradiction of it.
Seeing Red and Feeling Blue
One personality test that grabbed my attention a few years ago was the Color Code personality test. The author insists that there are four main core motivations driving everyone—Power (red), Joy (yellow), Intimacy or Closeness with others (blue), and Peace (white). (People can have more than one color, but usually have a dominant core motivation.) I do not know whether this is all true, but I know from personal experience that there ARE people for whom power is an end unto itself, rather than a means to an end, and that I usually rub these people the wrong way. I often do not get along with them well; it is as if we are using two different emotional currencies, and their coins are unacceptable at my bank, while mine are slugs to their cashiers. I find deep, meaningful, trusting relationships to be ends unto themselves. Those who find power to be an end unto itself (at least in my life) seem to struggle with deep relationships, because they require putting one's self in a vulnerable position. If someone knows you well enough to make you happy, they also know you well enough to make you miserable. Uniting a person who values such closeness with a person who values power is often a recipe for disaster, and I have lived through just such a disaster. I am grateful for this particular paradigm, with its kindergarten color classifications, not because it oversimplified the world, but because it gave me an explanation of why people in my life did what they did.
I remember a man, a doctor, getting up in front of the congregation on Sunday, and telling us how everyone really wants power. An intoxicated woman crashed her car, killing her child. The doctor told of the tragic ordeal, noted that if he had the power to save the child, tragedy would have been averted, and falsely pronounced that, "see, what we all really want is power." Actually, power in this instance would be a means, not an end unto itself, except for the doctor. What the mother wanted was her child brought back to life, whether she had the power to do it, or the doctor, or a shaman, or God, or anybody. But the doctor saw the world as he was, rather than as it is. My experience has been that people for whom power is an end unto itself have a deep-seated aversion to personality tests, and I can now understand why. They reveal a person's nature, which can leave us feeling vulnerable, and they put limits on us, also a loss of power.
A radio talk show host told how she imitated the screaming of a toddler in a grocery store line, and the toddler stopped crying. Her interpretation of events was that she had taken away the toddler's power. I posited other possibilities; maybe the kid was weirded out by the novelty of a wrinkly old woman making baby noises. Columbus died believing he had reached Asia, but that false belief did not keep him from being a world-class mariner. Still, having a more incisive understanding of why the method works could only improve application.
Rather than make the mistake of assuming that my treasure is also someone elses treasure, this paradigm, this way of classifying people, has helped me explain the otherwise baffling behavior of others on their own terms. A good theory is parsimonious—it explains a lot of phenomena with very little information. And personality tests have given me a window on others' motives that I could not have developed on my own. They have taught me to respect differences rather than look down my nose at them.
Moving Targets
We are not static beings. The first time I took the Meyers-Briggs test, my introversion was numerically ranked as 45, with 55 being the most introverted. Ten years later, I took the same test, and found that I was now at 25. Every other indicator on the test had moved to the the center, whereas before, I had been very polarized in all areas. I hope this is indicative of softening, progress towards holistic wholeness and balance. Personality tests provide a snapshot of an individual, rather than a permanent classification. Some traits hold on to us; others fade or even reverse with time.
I have met many people who have an aversion to personality tests. Somehow they feel such artificial limitations are harmful. As I indicated, they may be harmful self-fulfilling prophecies. On the other hand, none of these people have indicated to me that mirrors are harmful. Truth and pride are most certainly incompatible, and if one is infected with a large amount of pride, a look in the mirror will be painful. It does not have the ability to flatter or gloss over faults. In any case, I would rather know the truth about myself than try to hide from it. If there really is garbage, baggage, debris, and contaminants inside me, or a time bomb waiting to detonate in my psychic makeup, I want to be aware of it. I also want to be aware of whether vanilla or chocolate is more appealing to me, just because it is a part of what I am.
Because I know I am introverted, and that (GASP!) God designed me that way, I have several advantages: First, I am not riddled with guilt about being what I am. Others want to go and party or watch movies or jet ski, while I want to chat and read and research the deep things of the universe. Rather than trying to repent of this social sin, I recognize that I am a fish rather than a bird, and spend my time finding joy in swimming rather than flying. Second, I am able to make plans for myself based on this knowledge. A job as a teacher will appeal to me more than a job as a police man or a circus clown (though each contains elements of the others, come to think of it).
I suppose the whole introversion-as-a-malfunction irks me because it is a social bias, rather than a commandment. People at large know what a Sasquatch is, but very few believe they exist. Everyone knows what introverts are, but many people assume that they are merely broken extroverts. "If I were acting that way, I would feel poorly, therefore this bookworm picking daisies and staring at clouds must be feeling poorly." Ponder, study, search, read, meditate, listen to the still small voice, the whisper of the Holy Ghost. These are all scriptural injunctions. Who is predisposed to excel at these God-given mandates, introverts or extroverts? Do introverts need to repent of being in tune with angels, or discovering the details and laws of nature, or of inventing tools that benefit humanity at large, or postulating and conceiving potential new inventions? Jesus went into the wilderness for forty days to fast and be with His Father. Moses did the same on Mount Sinai. How we shy away from such behavior in America today.
It is strange that we benefit from cooperation, yet celebrate our independence and rugged individuality. This is the only North American social context in which introversion is considered desirable—when attempting to evince the lone-wolf mystique of the solo maverick. Our hero comes gliding over the horizon on a motorcycle as the ominous mood of the music is interrupted by the credits being flashed on the screen...his face exudes grim stoicism, a severe scowl obvious behind his opaque sun glasses. Hypocrisy stains this introverted stance; those who put on this show are trying to appear isolated ON STAGE, which is the least isolated of places. Real introverts relax and experience fulfillment when there are no cameras rolling, no eyes prying. And they stay there for a lot longer than it takes to roll the introductory credits.
Different, Good; Same as God, Better
We Latter-day Saints seek earnestly to be like God, but most of that transformation will probably occur after the resurrection. Parity will only come after lengthy instruction and growth. Here, in this brief probationary period on earth, there is not time to be everything. The Lord needs introverts and extroverts, flowers and fish, birds and pigs, all populated in the right proportions to each other, to achieve the right telestial ecology. He has uses for all of them, and while we strive to be something else through repentance, we should also appreciate and develop the talents we already have. I am convinced that God could make us into anything He wanted, like Solomon. God came to him in a dream, and asked him what he wanted. The Lord praised him for not asking to live longer, or to be rich, or to get revenge on his enemies (those obvious options use up the classical three wishes offered by jug-genies of legend. Add a river of chocolate and something about sex, and you pretty much have the natural man covered). Solomon asked for wisdom to benefit his people, and God endowed him with it in spades (1Kings 3:5-10).
My point here is that, in most cases, God has already made us into what He wants us to be. He has cast us in the mold He wanted. The only thing that remains for most of us is the mighty change of heart, accompanied by our assumption of important titles (the names of Christ), and roles (such as parenthood). Rather than applying modern American priorities for extroversion and other traits to God, and trying to repent of our introversion and other traits that are currently culturally unfashionable (like forgiveness and mercy), I hope we find what we were designed to do, and do it with our whole hearts.
