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Authors: Kevin Dutton
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darkest, most storm-battered fringes?
Support for this latter, anti-separationist view comes from a wideranging survey conducted by Lisa Saulsman and Andrew Page in 2004. Saulsman and Page scoured the clinical literature—studies that looked, in turn, at the relationship between each of the ten personality disorders listed in DSM on the one hand, and each of the Big Five personality dimensions on the other—and chucked what they found into one big melting pot of data. Analysis revealed that all ten personality disorders can be accounted for within the framework of the Big Five model.But, crucially, it was an overriding “Big Two” that did most of the heavy lifting: Neuroticism and Agreeableness.
To illustrate, Saulsman and Page found that disorders particularly characterized by emotional distress (e.g., Paranoid, Schizotypal, Borderline, Avoidant, and Dependent) display strong associations with Neuroticism, while those typified by interpersonal difficulties (e.g., Paranoid, Schizotypal, Antisocial, Borderline, and Narcissistic) fall down, perhaps not surprisingly, on Agreeableness. Also implicated, but to a somewhat lesser degree, were the dimensions of Extraversion and Conscientiousness. Disorders either side of what we might call the Socialite-Hermit divide (Histrionic and Narcissistic, on one; Schizoid, Schizotypal, and Avoidant on the other) posted, respectively, high and low scorecards on Extraversion. Those either side of the Easy Rider–Control Freak border (Antisocial and Borderline in one camp versus Obsessive-Compulsive in the other) were similarly bipolar when it came to Conscientiousness.
The case seems pretty convincing. If the omnipotent Big Five comprise our personality solar system, then the rogue constellation of disorders certainly forms part of the firmament. But where, once again, does that leave psychopaths?
The Mask of Sanity
Psychopathy—like personality itself—first appears on the radar, in exquisitely mischievous though wholly unmistakable form, amidst the musings of the ancient Greeks.The philosopher Theophrastus (c. 371–287 B.C.) , the successor to Aristotle as head of the Peripatetic school in Athens, delineates, in his book
The Characters
, a coruscating caseload of thirty moral temperaments. One of the assembled rings several cacophonous bells.
“The Unscrupulous Man,” Theophrastus laments, “will go and borrow more money from a creditor he has never paid … When marketing he reminds the butcher of some service he has rendered him, and, standing near the scales, throws in some meat, if he can, and asoupbone. If he succeeds, so much the better; if not, he will snatch a piece of tripe and go off laughing.” And go off laughing he did. But fast-forward a couple of thousand years, to the early nineteenth century, and the unscrupulous man returns, this time as one of the key metaphysical players in the debate over free will. Could it possibly be the case, philosophers and physicians conjectured, that certain moral transgressors, certain unconscionable ne’er-do-wells, weren’t simply “bad,” but were, in fact, in contrast to other miscreants, possessed of little or no understanding of the consequences of their actions? One of them certainly thought so.
In 1801, a French physician by the name of Philippe Pinel scribbled in his notebook the words
manie sans délire
after looking on in horror as a man coolly, calmly, and collectedly kicked a dog to death in front of him. Later in that same year, Pinel was to compile a meticulous, comprehensive—and, to this day, highly accurate—account of the syndrome. Not only had the man in question exhibited not the slightest flicker of remorse for his actions, he had also, in most other respects, appeared perfectly sane. He seemed, to coin a phrase that many who have since come into contact with psychopaths concur with, to be “mad without being mad.”
Manie sans délire
.
The Frenchman, it turned out, wasn’t alone in his
Support for this latter, anti-separationist view comes from a wideranging survey conducted by Lisa Saulsman and Andrew Page in 2004. Saulsman and Page scoured the clinical literature—studies that looked, in turn, at the relationship between each of the ten personality disorders listed in DSM on the one hand, and each of the Big Five personality dimensions on the other—and chucked what they found into one big melting pot of data. Analysis revealed that all ten personality disorders can be accounted for within the framework of the Big Five model.But, crucially, it was an overriding “Big Two” that did most of the heavy lifting: Neuroticism and Agreeableness.
To illustrate, Saulsman and Page found that disorders particularly characterized by emotional distress (e.g., Paranoid, Schizotypal, Borderline, Avoidant, and Dependent) display strong associations with Neuroticism, while those typified by interpersonal difficulties (e.g., Paranoid, Schizotypal, Antisocial, Borderline, and Narcissistic) fall down, perhaps not surprisingly, on Agreeableness. Also implicated, but to a somewhat lesser degree, were the dimensions of Extraversion and Conscientiousness. Disorders either side of what we might call the Socialite-Hermit divide (Histrionic and Narcissistic, on one; Schizoid, Schizotypal, and Avoidant on the other) posted, respectively, high and low scorecards on Extraversion. Those either side of the Easy Rider–Control Freak border (Antisocial and Borderline in one camp versus Obsessive-Compulsive in the other) were similarly bipolar when it came to Conscientiousness.
The case seems pretty convincing. If the omnipotent Big Five comprise our personality solar system, then the rogue constellation of disorders certainly forms part of the firmament. But where, once again, does that leave psychopaths?
The Mask of Sanity
Psychopathy—like personality itself—first appears on the radar, in exquisitely mischievous though wholly unmistakable form, amidst the musings of the ancient Greeks.The philosopher Theophrastus (c. 371–287 B.C.) , the successor to Aristotle as head of the Peripatetic school in Athens, delineates, in his book
The Characters
, a coruscating caseload of thirty moral temperaments. One of the assembled rings several cacophonous bells.
“The Unscrupulous Man,” Theophrastus laments, “will go and borrow more money from a creditor he has never paid … When marketing he reminds the butcher of some service he has rendered him, and, standing near the scales, throws in some meat, if he can, and asoupbone. If he succeeds, so much the better; if not, he will snatch a piece of tripe and go off laughing.” And go off laughing he did. But fast-forward a couple of thousand years, to the early nineteenth century, and the unscrupulous man returns, this time as one of the key metaphysical players in the debate over free will. Could it possibly be the case, philosophers and physicians conjectured, that certain moral transgressors, certain unconscionable ne’er-do-wells, weren’t simply “bad,” but were, in fact, in contrast to other miscreants, possessed of little or no understanding of the consequences of their actions? One of them certainly thought so.
In 1801, a French physician by the name of Philippe Pinel scribbled in his notebook the words
manie sans délire
after looking on in horror as a man coolly, calmly, and collectedly kicked a dog to death in front of him. Later in that same year, Pinel was to compile a meticulous, comprehensive—and, to this day, highly accurate—account of the syndrome. Not only had the man in question exhibited not the slightest flicker of remorse for his actions, he had also, in most other respects, appeared perfectly sane. He seemed, to coin a phrase that many who have since come into contact with psychopaths concur with, to be “mad without being mad.”
Manie sans délire
.
The Frenchman, it turned out, wasn’t alone in his
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