The Art of Psychobiography

Review of Handbook of Psychohistory, ed. William Todd Schultz. N.Y.: Oxford University Press, 2005, hardcover, ISBN 0-19-516827-5, xi, 380 pp., $67.50.

Schultz’ Handbook has helped broaden my perspectives on how to approach psychobiography. I had always viewed the psychological study of biography as focusing on questions of “why” and utilizing various aspects of psychoanalytic theory to answer the vital question of motivation. This book helped me realize that there is indeed more to non-psychoanalytic approaches than I had realized. Despite my preference for psychoanalytic theory, these authors convincingly show that there are a wide variety of other psychological approaches one can use. Much depends on the nature of your topic and what you are focusing upon.

Though there can be no universally applicable way to decide on a topic or an approach, the Handbook offers a number of common-sense guidelines (contained primarily in the first eight chapters) that can be useful for student or advanced practitioner. One key principle is that you never bend your data to fit a preconceived theory. If what you are finding does not support the theory you like, change or modify your theory. Schultz’ collection offers useful advice on how to effectively deal with such questions, some of which will be listed below.

When writing psychobiography, try to frame a clear, specific question or set of questions. If not enough evidence is available, consider switching your subject: “the more data supporting an interpretation, and the more various its sources, the better” (p. 7). Thus in-depth research is essential, especially when you are dealing with someone who is the object of intense feeling and conflicting opinion. My work on Joseph Smith, Jr. has proven a classic example of this. “Everything we do is over determined…No single reason suffices, or it does so only very rarely…It’s always better to let conclusions follow naturally from an array of data: Give the reader the evidence, then suggest its meanings, and let the chips fall where they may” (pp. 6-7). In accordance with this principle, undue reliance on diagnosis is generally unsound because it can easily degenerate into inappropriate negativism about your subject. How much does reducing your person to a set of diagnostic categories really tell us? Clinical classification should not and cannot be a substitute for hard information about your subject. Nevertheless, I have always been of the opinion that diagnostic discussion can still be a useful adjunct with some subjects.

The problem of reductionism is something psychohistorians often have to contend with in the course of our work. Such concerns may be valid or may be leveled in service of resistance to psychological insight. This book defines reductionism as effort made to exclusively define an adult person solely in terms of their childhood experience. “Childhood can be key. We should never neglect it entirely…It might even be the most formative time period in any one subject’s life…Childhood is almost always a factor; it isn’t ever the only fact” (pp. 11-12). From this we might surmise that Schultz and at least some of his contributors tend to favor non-psychoanalytic approaches, because the common perception is that analytic theory tends to be obsessed with trying to link everything to childhood experience. But if you accept the notion that we evolve from the past into the present on our way to the future, how can you ignore or downplay the importance of childhood experiences? Of course later experiences play a role in any life, but we should not forget that the ways people deal with adult situations are often learned/developed during childhood. Using theory that pays little or no attention to such concerns is, in my view, unsound. I will grant, though, that how narrowly you define your questions(s) would certainly influence any decision on appropriate theory.

The remaining three parts of the book (five chapters each) deal with psychobiographies of artists, psychologists, and political figures. The introductions to each section clearly define the differences in approach needed for each group of subjects examined. With political figures, issues of transference toward your subject can be crucial. If the life of your subject resonates with aspects of your own personal life, or that of your family of origin, this will inevitably influence how you approach your project as well

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as the nature and fairness of your interpretations. I was surprised that Schultz and his contributors seem to pay little attention to such issues, because they are universally applicable in all psychobiographical work. In the section on psychologists there is good discussion of how various theories are often influenced by the personal life experiences of the theorist—the chapter on S.S. Stevens is an excellent example.

Naturally, as a seasoned psychohistorical scholar, I have minor complaints about this volume. I would have preferred that there be more emphasis on the subjective aspect in doing psychobiography. This element is admirably presented in Atwood and Stolorow’s, Faces in a Cloud (1993), which merits more attention than this book gives it. Even though all the contributions to this volume are well written, I wish Schultz had included an annotated bibliography of the best psychobiographical theory and practice. I would have also liked to see stronger discussion of the place of psychoanalysis and psychohistory in psychobiographical work. Regrettably, Schultz and his contributors tend to distance themselves from psychohistory. This probably contributes to the emphasis on psychobiography as an independent field. Also, at $67.50, this volume may be too expensive for scholars on a limited budget.

In conclusion, the problems with Schultz’ compendium are minor. All academic libraries worth their name should immediately add it to their collection. It is a useful text for both student and advanced practitioner. Anyone doing psychobiographical work should have the Handbook close by at all times—it is that good.

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