Introduction
Pretty much
the first thing John Kihlstrom ever wanted to be was a
psychologist – not a cowboy, or a fireman, or a teacher – and
a personality
psychologist at that. And the inspiration for this ambition
was not Freud, or even Skinner, but rather the lone
psychologist who served his local public school system.
Kihlstrom was born on October 24,
1948 in Norwich, New York, the third child of Harriet Foster
Kihlstrom, then a legal secretary, and Waldo Helge Kihlstrom,
a Presbyterian minister whose church was in nearby Sherburne.
He has an older sister, Jean, now a retired nurse and health
administrator, and an older brother, Donald, now a retired
schoolteacher and antique dealer. Soon thereafter his father
took up a new ministry in Horseheads, New York, where his
mother worked as a school secretary. After his parents
separated, his mother moonlighted for Francis P. (Frank)
Coyle, the school psychologist, typing the reports he prepared
on students who were dealing with various educational
difficulties. Those reports had to be proofread, and there was
nobody else but he available to check the typescript while she
read the original aloud. Set aside the ethical questions:
Kihlstrom was just a little kid at the time, and his mother
made sure that he did not know any of the children discussed
in the reports. But he became fascinated with how Coyle was
able to use psychological tests to delve into the minds of
other people; and he decided that he wanted to do that, too.
This decision was cemented by an
interview Kihlstrom’s mother arranged with Dr. Michael Beer,
an organizational psychologist at nearby Corning Glass Works,
whose children attended her school (he later became a
professor at the Harvard Business School). Personnel
management looked like the same kind of enterprise: using
tests and measurements to help employees become better workers
and managers. Beer also gave him some of the best advice he
ever received: “Don’t ever tell anyone you collect stamps.”
Those were the
days before high schools (at least his) offered Advanced
Placement Psychology, so any formal introduction to psychology
had to wait until college. Kihlstrom did read Calvin Hall’s Primer of Freudian Psychology,
searching in vain for the good parts, but psychoanalysis never
attracted him. Good stories, to be sure, but not too
plausible. No tests, no measurements, no independent
corroboration. Following his interview with Beer, he had
applied to Cornell’s School of Industrial and Labor Relations,
which would have given him an Ivy League education at a public
university price. But he really wanted a liberal arts
education, and he was not ready to commit to industrial and
organizational psychology. Colgate, his first choice, offered
a full scholarship, so there he went (1966–1970). But
psychology had to wait again, until sophomore year, because
the psychology department did not permit freshmen in its
courses.
Education
When Kihlstrom finally got to the
introductory course, the textbook was by Morgan and King, two
physiological psychologists who did not spend much time on
personality. Psychology majors also took a two-semester method
course. The first half was based on Underwood’s Experimental Psychology:
the class conducted studies of absolute and difference
thresholds with Von Frey hairs, verbal learning with memory
drums (no cognitive psychology yet), and everyone got an
animal to train. Some students got rats; he got a goldfish who
learned to turn on a light in what he now understands to be an
expression of intrinsic motivation. The second half was on
personality and social psychology (no developmental psychology
in what was, then, an all-men’s school!). The text was Byrne’s
Introduction to Personality:
A Research Approach, which surveyed research on
particular constructs, such as authoritarianism and
achievement motivation, to illustrate the measurement of
individual differences and the study of personality structure,
development, dynamics, and change. Tests and measurements and
external validity, to be sure, but he remembers thinking
“There’s got to be more to personality than that!”
Kihlstrom wanted an approach that
would view the person whole, and he found what he was looking
for, to some extent, in the survey course in personality,
taught by William E. Edmonston and based on Hall and Lindzey’s
Theories of Personality.
About half of the book was devoted to various psychodynamic
theories, which still left him cold – though he admired their
attempt to say something deep about personality. But it also
had chapters on comprehensive “factor theories” of personality
(mostly Eysenck and Cattell), as well as Lewin’s field theory,
with what Ned Jones (Jones 1985)
called his “grand truism” of B = f(P,E). Kelly’s personal
construct theory, which became important for him later, was
not discussed in the first edition.
Colgate had no graduate students,
so all psychology majors were encouraged to apprentice
themselves in faculty members’ laboratories. Edmonston was the
personality psychologist, so Kihlstrom chose him: it was only
afterwards that he learned that Edmonston did hypnosis
research (Kihlstrom and Frischholtz 2010).
Still, as generations of psychologists had learned before him,
hypnosis is a fascinating phenomenon, intrinsically
interesting to experimenter and subject alike. By the time he
completed his junior year, he was completely hooked, and was
preparing a senior honors thesis trying to measure alterations
in consciousness (Kihlstrom and Edmonston 1971). It was the 1960s, after
all.
During senior
year, Kihlstrom also took a course on “Depth Psychology and
Religion” taught by M. Holmes (“Call me Steve,” not that any
student would have dared) Hartshorne, an existentialist
theologian who had studied with Paul Tillich, and who also had
been his freshman advisor (eventually, Kihlstrom would take
all of his courses). Hartshorne introduced Kihlstrom to Viktor
Frankl’s Man’s Search for
Meaning, which struck a responsive chord. He really
resonated to the existentialists’ emphasis on the necessity,
in an absurd world, of giving meaning to life and the
universe: “existence precedes essence” and all that. It was
the 1960s, after all. When Kihlstrom applied to graduate
school, he still wanted to do hypnosis research, but he also
wrote that he sought to “quantify the concepts of
existentialist theories of personality.” Burt Rosner, then the
department chair at the University of Pennsylvania, told
Kihlstrom that they admitted him just to see what he looked
like.
At Penn (1970–1975), Kihlstrom was
in the Program of Research Training in Personality and
Experimental Psychopathology, which was its version of a
clinical training program. His admission letter was signed by
Julius Wishner (Kihlstrom 1995),
as the director of the Clinical Training Program, and when
Kihlstrom called him to tell him that he did not want to be in a clinical
training program, Wishner replied “Don’t worry – you’re not”
and hung up the phone. Kihlstrom set his interests in
existentialism aside for the time being and devoted himself to
hypnosis research with Martin Orne (Kihlstrom 2001), his wife, Emily Carota Orne
(Dinges et al. 2017), and
their associate Fred Evans (Kihlstrom 2006).
Most of that research concerned posthypnotic amnesia, and
Kihlstrom gradually turned his interests toward memory and
consciousness. But Orne, a psychiatrist who also held a PhD in
social psychology, had been a student of Robert W. White, who
in turn had been part of Henry Murray’s research group at
Harvard (and replaced him as director of Harvard’s
Psychological Clinic); so personality and social psychology
were never far from Kihlstrom’s mind. Memory, after all, is a
critical component of self and identity (Kihlstrom et al. 2002); and unconscious processes
figure prominently in many classic theories of personality
(Kihlstrom 2012).
And Wishner had dissembled a
little bit. Kihlstrom was
in a clinical training program, after all, if one that
emphasized research rather than practice. In 1898, Penn had
actually opened the first university-based psychology clinic,
directed by Lightner Witmer, who coined the very term
“clinical psychology.” Kihlstrom took the mandatory course in
personality assessment, reading Meehl on “The Dynamics of
‘Structured’ Personality Tests” and clinical vs. statistical
prediction, Cronbach and Meehl and Loevinger on construct
validity, and Campbell and Fiske on the multitrait-multimethod
matrix. Wishner, who had been a student of Sam Beck’s at
Northwestern, taught the students how to score and interpret
the Rorschach, which he called “psychology’s most interesting
test” (Beck had studied with Oberholzer, a student of
Bleuler’s who had worked with Rorschach himself). The class
also read Mischel’s Personality
and Assessment, with its trenchant critique of
traditional personality testing and the trait psychology that
underlay it – and arguments for the importance of the meaning
of the situation, as construed by the individual.
At the end of his graduate studies
(1974–1975), Kihlstrom took a clinical internship at the
Temple University Health Sciences Center, a large inner-city
hospital, where the psychiatry department, led by Charles
Shagass, was organized along team lines. Physicians controlled
diagnosis and treatment, psychologists did the psychological
testing and some therapy, and social workers focused on
outplacement. At rounds, the psychologists’ testing reports
were taken seriously. Kihlstrom was in heaven and traded all
his therapy cases for testing cases until he got caught – at
which point he was assigned the worst cases imaginable.
Personality and Cognition
Kihlstrom’s first faculty position
was at Harvard (1975–1980). During his job interviews, he was
repeatedly asked what he wanted to teach, and he answered that
he wanted to teach courses on experimental psychopathology and
altered states of consciousness. The first three times, George
Goethals (the senior tutor), Robert Rosenthal (an old friend
of Martin’s), and Brendan Maher (the chair, and a leading
experimental psychopathologist himself) then asked him how he
would feel about teaching a graduate course in personality
assessment. Kihlstrom replied each time that it would be OK;
but when, on the fourth interview, Dave McClelland asked about
teaching, he promptly said that “I’d really like to teach a
course in personality assessment.” Before he even gave his job
talk (at which both Maher and McClelland fell asleep), they
were talking to him about Harvard’s health and retirement
plans.
Kihlstrom never did get to teach
that course in experimental psychopathology, though he did get
to teach a course on altered states; but his favorite course
at Harvard turned out to be that graduate course in
assessment, which he co-taught with McClelland. Their primary
texts were Wiggins’s Personality
and Prediction, to give students a view of
psychometric methods at their most sophisticated; Rapaport’s Diagnostic Psychological Testing,
to introduce them to projective tests and clinical
interpretation; and, of course, Mischel’s book. The course had
gone untaught for several years, so there was a buildup of
students who wanted to take it, including Ritchie Davidson,
Robert Dworkin, Stanley Klein, Judy Harackiewicz, and Dan
McAdams. McClelland had no use for personality questionnaires,
so the two instructors complemented each other nicely;
Kihlstrom remembers that faculty and students alike had a very
good time, and they all learned a lot from each other.
Kihlstrom also learned a lot from his junior faculty
colleagues, especially Reid Hastie, who patiently tutored him
in the psychology of memory and introduced him to social
cognition.
At the time, personality
psychology was undergoing a crisis and a transition. It had
begun in earnest with Mischel’s book, which proffered the
“personality coefficient,” amounting to r = .30, thus explaining
about 10% of variance, as the ceiling on the prediction of
behavior in some specific situation from assessments of
personality traits. Other studies quickly followed, all
suggesting that behavior was not as coherent, stable,
consistent, and predictable as the Doctrine of Traits had led
us to expect. This led to a “battle of the effect sizes”
between those who favored the traditional trait view and
those, rooted in experimental social psychology, who favored
an opposing Doctrine of Situationism. In 1973, Ken Bowers
(whom Kihlstrom knew through hypnosis research) had proposed a
resolution of the trait-situation debate in terms of a
Doctrine of Interactionism, which held that “situations are as
much a function of the person as the person’s behavior is a
function of the situation” (Bowers 1973).
Interactionism resonated with Lewin’s “grand truism,” so it
seemed to be a good idea, and empirical studies employing the
“S-R inventory” technique showed that the statistical
interaction of person and situation accounted for more
behavioral variance than either main effect taken separately
(e.g., Dworkin and Kihlstrom 1978).
Later, Albert Bandura added his Doctrine of Reciprocal
Determinism (Bandura 1978),
invoking bidirectional causality among the three causal
elements: persons, environments, and behavior (Kihlstrom and
Harackiewicz 1990). At that
point, it seemed personality theory and research had acquired
a richness and complexity suitable to its subject matter.
There remained the matter of just
how persons affected situations. Interactionism, as Bowers
conceived it, was more dynamic than implied by the interaction
term in the analysis of variance. Kihlstrom got some insight
into these dynamics during a sabbatical year at Stanford
(Harvard did not often give tenure, but it did give junior
faculty time off to get another job). He had gone West to
spend time with E.R. (“Jack”) Hilgard, a distinguished
hypnosis researcher (among many other distinctions; Kihlstrom
1994, 2002),
who was about to retire. Mischel and Bandura were there as
well, and Kihlstrom looked forward to having some contact with
them (at Colgate, he had taken a course on the history and
philosophy of science with Mischel’s brother, Theodore). At a
weekly seminar led by Robert Abelson, who was visiting from
Yale, Kihlstrom happened to sit next to Nancy Cantor, one of
Mischel’s graduate students, and they started talking about
the work she was doing on personality prototypes. One thing
led to another, and pretty soon they were developing the idea
that cognition was the key to the person-situation
interaction. That is, people responded to their mental representation of
the situation, and that mental representation was itself a
product of their own constructive cognitive activity. The
insight was not original with them, of course. It had its
roots in Mischel’s often-ignored assertion that behavior was
controlled by the perceived
situation, and to Kelly’s stress on the importance of the
individual’s construal
of the situation – and, even further back, to Lewin’s emphasis
on the psychological
situation, and even symbolic interactionism and the Thomas
Theorem (Merton 1995). Both
Mischel and Maher had been students of George Kelly at Ohio
State, and after Kihlstrom returned to Harvard, he added
Kelly’s thoroughly cognitive theory of personal constructs to
the assessment course. He also convened an evening seminar on
“Personality and Cognition,” in which Judy Harackiewicz, Stan
Klein, Beverly Chew, and Dan McAdams, among others, were
active participants. When Nancy took her first job at
Princeton, the two of them organized a symposium on
“Personality, Cognition, and Social Interaction” dedicated to
breaking through the institutional boundaries that had
separated personality and cognitive social psychology (Cantor
and Kihlstrom 1981).
Cantor and Kihlstrom also tried
their hand at writing a textbook based on this theme. The
chapters they drafted gave a critical picture of what the
psychology of personality was like in the mid-1980s, but there
was not yet enough social-cognitive research on personality to
sustain a textbook. With their publisher’s permission, the
project morphed into a scholarly monograph announcing a new
“social intelligence” view of personality (Cantor and
Kihlstrom 1987), deeply
rooted in Mischel and Kelly.
Of course, “social intelligence”
had been in the air at least since Thorndike ( 1920) introduced the term. But
Thorndike, and most others who came after him, construed
social intelligence as something like “social IQ”: a
trait-like dimension on which individual differences could be
measured by instruments modeled on the Wechsler Adult
Intelligence Scale and which could predict how well
individuals performed in social situations. In contrast to
this “ability view” of social intelligence, which persists to
this day (Goleman 2006),
Cantor and Kihlstrom proposed a “knowledge view” based on the
meaning of “intelligence” in such terms as military intelligence.
That is, a person’s experience, thought, and action in some
situation depended on the knowledge and beliefs – the intelligence – that he or
she brought into that situation. People did not differ in how
socially intelligent they were; rather, they differed in terms
of what social intelligence
they had – what they knew about themselves, the
people they dealt with, and the situations they encountered
them in. Somewhat paradoxically, in view of where Kihlstrom
started out, the knowledge view abjures the sort of testing
that would put the measurement of social intelligence on a
comparative scale. The whole framework is “idiographic,” in
Allport’s terms. Nevertheless, he and Cantor still get
occasional requests for tests that would measure a person’s
social intelligence.
In 1979, as his time at Harvard
was drawing to an end, Kihlstrom was surprised to receive the
American Psychological Association’s “Early Career Award” in
personality. When he was nominated, he did not think he had a
chance, but individual differences are crucial in hypnosis
research, and all of his research had included assessments of
hypnotizability. The chair of the committee later told him
that, in view of the continuing trait-situation controversy,
they wanted to recognize someone who took individual
differences seriously. And, in fact, he has done quite a bit
of research on hypnotizability, including analyses of the
structure of hypnotizability and its correlates in the wider
domain of personality.
The Early Career Award led to an
offer of tenure at the University of Wisconsin (1980–1987),
where Kihlstrom was assigned to teach the introductory course
and the survey course in personality – a combination he
continued after he moved to the University of Arizona
(1987–1994). At the time, many personality courses, and
textbooks, began with Freud and later psychodynamic theories,
against which traditional trait theories pale by comparison
(“There’s got to be more to personality than that!”). Instead,
Kihlstrom began with types and traits, compared methods of
personality questionnaire construction, and sampled
experimental research on various constructs, culminating in
The Big Five (which he likes to characterize as “The Big Five
Blind Date Questions”). The focus, however, was on critically
examining the four assumptions of the Doctrine of Traits:
coherence, stability, consistency, and predictability – and
finding the evidence for all four surprisingly weak. Only then
did Kihlstrom turn to depth psychology as an alternative to
the apparent superficiality of trait theory (“There’s got to
be more to personality than that!”), moving quickly from
classical psychoanalysis to the neo-Freudian theories of Anna
Freud, Adler, Horney, Fromm, Sullivan, and Erikson. These
theories were mostly lacking in convincing empirical support
too, and Kihlstrom said so. But, for better or worse, Freud
changed the way we thought about ourselves, and it is
impossible to understand the twentieth-century culture without
knowing something about him, so he taught psychoanalysis as a
contribution to liberal education (he did omit Freud entirely
1 year and found that the course went surprisingly well
without him). There followed a discussion of situationism,
interactionism, and reciprocal determinism, leading up to the
cognitive approach, with Mischel’s and Bandura’s cognitive
versions of social learning theory, and Kelly’s personal
construct theory, as exemplars. Finally, Kihlstrom used
research on gender to illustrate how biological and
psychological and cognitive and social factors worked together
to yield a major feature of personality: gender identity and
gender role.
Kihlstrom’s treatment of
personality in the introductory course, which he continued to
teach at Yale (1994–1997) and Berkeley (beginning in 1997),
had a similar flavor. Most textbooks treat personality
separately from social psychology and are focused on Freud and
the Big Five, but he prefers to treat the two fields in an
integrated fashion, using Lewin’s “grand truism” as a
framework (J.F. Kihlstrom 2013).
Thus, behavior is influenced by both personal and
environmental factors; people influence the environments to
which they respond; and bidirectional causality allows
environments to shape people and for behavior to feedback to
change both the person who emitted it and the environment
which elicited it. Kihlstrom then decomposes reciprocal
determinism into “three dialectics” – between the person and
behavior; between the environment and behavior; and between
the person and the environment. This last, of course, returns
us to the Doctrine of Interactionism and a consideration of
how persons affect situations through mechanisms of evocation,
selection, behavioral manipulation, and cognitive
transformation. When it comes to personality development, he
emphasizes the critical role of the nonshared
environment. In psychological terms, every child is born to
different parents, raised in a different family, lives in a
different neighborhood, attends a different school, and
worships in a different church. Using the Lewinian framework,
which turns out to be not a truism, but certainly grand,
Kihlstrom finds that he can cover everything that is important
in personality and social psychology.
In 1975, before leaving Penn for
Harvard, Kihlstrom married Susan Jo Russell, who had been
working in Orne’s lab, and who in Cambridge returned to her
career as an elementary school teacher and mathematics
educator. They divorced in 1982. In 1984, Kihlstrom met Lucy
Canter, an MBA student at Wisconsin who had an earlier career
as a social worker and had a special interest in healthcare.
They married in 1986. While they were at Arizona, Lucy took a
PhD in health services administration and research from the
University of Minnesota, studying mental health “carve-outs”
and the pharmaceutical industry. Together, they developed an
interest in health cognition and behavior. Most of health
psychology is concerned with the stress-disease connection,
and psychoneuroimmunology, but from a cognitive point of view,
they were more interested in patients’ (and physicians’) beliefs about disease, how
these beliefs influence individual health behavior, and the
role of cognition in problems of compliance with prescriptions
for prevention and treatment (Kihlstrom and Canter Kihlstrom 1999). You can make a pill to cure
disease, but then you have got to get people to take the pill
– and there is no pill for that.
A Generalist
Kihlstrom identifies himself as a
cognitive social psychologist with clinical training and
interests. For most of his career, he has kept one foot in
cognitive and the other in social psychology (including
personality), shifting his weight from time to time, always
keeping an eye on clinical material for inspiration. These
days, he is often identified as a cognitive psychologist, and
in 2003, in another surprise, he was elected to the Society of
Experimental Psychologists. But he has always felt more at
home in personality and social psychology. Memory, for
Kihlstrom, is not just a mental repository of stored
information; it is deeply personal and social, part of human
ecology. Social psychology is not just the study of social
influence; it is the study of mind in action. And personality
is about more than individual differences; it is where
psychology gets to view the person whole. At Penn, Kihlstrom
was trained by generalists to be a generalist, and he has
published in almost every area of psychology, including animal
learning (Mineka and Kihlstrom 1978,
still one of his favorite papers) and life-span development
(Denney et al. 1992). His
1987 Science paper on
“The Cognitive Unconscious” is generally regarded as a
milestone in the revival of scientific interest in unconscious
mental life (Kihlstrom 1987),
and he joined Stan Klein in papers that presaged the
development of social neuroscience (Klein and Kihlstrom 1998; Klein et al. 1996). With Gordon Bower,
Kihlstrom co-chaired a task force which made recommendations
to enhance the support of basic scientific research by the
National Institute of Mental Health (Behavioral Science Task
Force 1995). From 1995–1999,
Kihlstrom was Editor of Psychological
Science, the flagship journal of the American
Psychological Society (as it was then known), whose motto was
“We publish the psychology that Science doesn’t.”
At Harvard,
Kihlstrom was a personality psychologist with clinical
training. At Wisconsin, he was a social psychologist who
wanted to be a cognitive psychologist. At Arizona, he was a
cognitive psychologist who missed social psychology. At Yale,
he could be both, and at Berkeley, he could be both and warm. In 2013,
Kihlstrom was named the Richard and Rhoda Goldman
Distinguished Professor in the College of Letters and Science.
There are five of these professorships, one for each division
of the College of Letters and Science, endowed by the
progenitors of a multigenerational Cal family. He is
particularly pleased that his chair is located in the Division
of Undergraduate and Interdisciplinary Studies. Kihlstrom
really imprinted on his undergraduate experience at Colgate,
and so he has always preferred undergraduate to graduate
teaching, including the introductory course (which he has
taught continuously since 1980, including online). And his
experience with Colgate’s innovative Core Curriculum gave him
an appreciation for interdisciplinary teaching and learning.
Since leaving Arizona, Kihlstrom
has not had the opportunity to teach personality. But as a
member of both the cognition and social/personality programs
at Berkeley, as well as the undergraduate interdisciplinary
major in Cognitive Science (which he directed for 5 years), he
has included personality in his courses on social cognition.
The basic principle of cognitive social psychology is that
people’s behavior is determined by their mental representation
of the situation they are in; and so we need to know about the
cognitive processes by which those mental representations are
constructed. The course is structured like a standard
cognitive psychology course – perception, learning and memory,
language, reasoning, judgment, and decision-making,
neuroscience, and development – except that the objects of
cognition are social in nature: persons, situations, and the
behavior exchanged in them. In his view, individual
differences in social behavior – the public expression of
private personality – are caused by individual differences in
social cognition – which brings us back to social
intelligence, personal constructs, and the social learning
processes by which our knowledge and beliefs about ourselves
and others are acquired.
Conclusion
Kihlstrom never did get around to
quantifying the concepts of existentialist theories of
personality, but he did carry the essential features of that
viewpoint throughout his career. His research on hypnosis led
him to develop an interest in the problem of unconscious
mental life and to the view that consciousness – our awareness
of ourselves and our place in the universe and our ability to
determine our own actions – is the central feature of human
personhood. His work memory led to his view of the self as
one’s mental representation of oneself (Kihlstrom and Cantor 1984), the role of the self in
conscious experience (Kihlstrom 1997),
and the critical contribution of autobiographical memory to
personal identity. And his work on social cognition led him to
appreciate how much of the social world is a creation of
individual and collective consciousness and the role of
cognitive processes in creating the situations in which our
experience, thought, and action occur.
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