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Suicide and creativity: The case of Sylvia Plath

Article  in  Death Studies · September 1998

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SUICIDE AND CREATIVITY : THE CASE OF SYLVIA

PLA TH
` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` ` `

MA RK A . RUNCO
California State University, Fullerton, California, USA

T his article explores the idea that although m uch can b e learne d by view ing S ylvia
P lath’ s poetry as an expression of her think ing and a€ect , additional insights are
a€orded by reversing the typical direction of e€ect and by view ing P lath’ s a€ect ,
and in particular her depression, as a result of her w riting . C onsistent w ith this
interpretation is P lath’ s huge investment in w riting . T his may have contrib uted to
the sensitivity that predisposed her to stress and depression. T his perspective is tied
to the existing creativity literature and interw oven and contrasted w ith existing
descriptions of P lath’ s w ork and tragic death .

There are numerous reasons to study the relationships that exist

between suicide and creativity. Theories of creativity will likely be
enriched by a close examination of the suicides of unambiguously
creative individuals, for example, and predictions may be made
more accurate by examining the role of creativity in the suicides of
those same persons.
Several questions are addressed in this article. First, what do we
know about creativity and suicide ? Second, how does the case of
Sylvia Plath ® t with existing theories of creativity and suicide ? In
addition to addressing these questions I o€ er two new hypotheses
about the relationship of creativity with suicide. I begin with a
brief overview of some of the notable ® ndings and ideas about
suicide found in the creativity literature. In this sense this is not a
typical inductive case study. The approach used here is essentially

A ddress corresp on dence to M ark R un co, Bld g. EC 105, C a liforn ia S tat e U niv ersit y ,
P .O . B ox 6868, F u llert on , C A 92834- 6868. Sen d e-m a il to M R unco @ F ullert on .edu.

Dea th Stu dies, 22 : 637± 654, 1998

C op yrig ht Ó 1998 T ay lor & F ra ncis
0748-11 87 / 98 $12.00 1 .00 637
638 M . A . R unco

deductive in that I start with theories of creativity and then con-

sider the speci® c caseÐ Sylvia Plath.
A second feature of this article may also be atypical. This is the
suggestion that although much can be learned by viewing Plath’ s
poetry as an expression of her thinking and a€ ect, additional
insights are a€ orded by reversing the usual direction of e€ ect and
by viewing Plath’ s a€ ect, and in particular her depression, as a
result of her writing. ``Result’ ’ may be somewhat strong, and
``in¯ uenced by’ ’ may be more realistic, but the point is that the
causality originated with the writing rather than with Plath’ s
temperament or experience. Theories of creativity can again be
cited as justi® cation, but just as I would not suggest that the
deductive approach mentioned above be used instead of the more
typical case study methods, I would suggest a bidirectional view of
causality. Rather than assume just one direction of e€ ect, bidirec-
tional e€ ects between the person and the writing should be recog-
nized.
A third potentially unique feature of this article is the suggestion
that Plath’s huge investment in writing may have contributed spe-
ci® cally to her sensitivity and thus predisposed her to depression.
This notion of investment, and several other psychoeconomic prin-
ciples, have been used in the creativity literature to understand
how and why creative persons ful® ll their potentials. In my
reading, however, they have not been exploited in studies of
suicide. I attempt to do so here. In a manner of speaking, psycho-
economic concepts, such as psychic investments, provide a very
optimistic approach because they suggest that suicide is not just
temperamental but at least partly a result of development and
experience ( i.e., the investments themselves) . This allows optimism
because if suicide is tied to development and investments, some-
thing can be done about it. The psychoeconomic approach to
behavior also has the advantage of testable hypotheses ( see Ruben-
son, 1991 ; Rubenson & Runco, 1992, 1995) . A brief overview of
the relevant theories of creativity is necessary at this point, before
the hypotheses are described.

Unambiguous Cases of Creativity

Studies of eminent persons are quite common in the creativity

 S uicide and C reativity 639

research. This is in part because creativity is difficult to de® ne, and

uncertainty is minimized when studying eminent individuals.
Eminent artists may be doubly interesting because art is an unam-
biguously creative domain. Other domains ( e.g., business, politics)
reward successes that are not necessarily creative ; but it is very
difficult or even impossible to do uncreative art. This reasoning can
be taken one step further when thinking about Sylvia Plath, for
poetry is thought to be one of the most exacting of the arts
( Barron, 1995) .
Many unambiguously creative persons have committed suicide,
and poets seem to be particularly susceptible. Martindale ( 1972) ,
for example, examined several dozen French and English poets and
found approximately one out of seven to have had psychopath-
ology, using attempted suicide as one of the indicators of psycho-
pathology. Similarly, Jamison ( 1993, pp. 61± 62, 292± 293) sampled
15 anthologies of poetry from the 18th and 19th centuries. Her
emphasis was on the patterning of mood , which she found to charac-
terize the writers and their families. Jamison concluded that mood
disorders are related to the creativity of artists ( and their families)
more than other expressions of psychopathology ( see also Runco &
Richards, in press) . Jamison estimated that poets are ® ve times
more likely to commit suicide than the general population.
Ludwig ( 1995) found poets to have the highest attempted
suicide ratesÐ at 26% for his sample of over 1,000 eminent cre-
ators. Actors were second at 23%, and musical entertainers were
third ( 17%) . The rate across all of the arts ( 14%) was more than
twice that of the rate for all other domains. Woman had much
higher rates than men ( 17% vs. 8%, respectively, across domains) .
These ® gures can be compared with the 1%± 1.4% suicide mortal-
ity rates for individuals of the same ages and period of time ( 1920±
1988) .
Ludwig ( 1995) reported that poets have the highest rate of emo-
tional disorderÐ 87% in his sample. Writers of ® ction, actors, and
musical composers and entertainers were not far behind ( 77% and
68%) . The lowest rates of emotional disorders were found for
explorers, military officers, politicians, and natural scientists. Even
here the rates were 27% and higher. Not surprisingly, Ludwig’ s
( 1995) general conclusion about creativity was that there is a sig-
ni® cant price to pay for greatness.
640 M . A . R unco

Background Contributions

In many ways Plath’ s background was typical of creative persons.

She experienced the early loss of one parent, for example, which is
fairly common among creative persons ( Albert, 1978 ; Tomlinson-
Keasey & Warren, 1984) . Her mother gave her a great deal of
attention and read to her quite a bit. Sylvia had many extra-
curricular experiences ( e.g., summer camp, viola lessons, basket-
ball, sailing, scouting, dancing, painting) , which is again common
among creators ( Runco, 1986 ; Schaefer, 1971) . She was appar-
ently open-minded, with interests in hypnosis and para-
psychological phenomena ( cf. Davis, 1975) . Perhaps most
important is that like many creative persons there was an immersion
and devotion to an area of interest. She was interested in writing
from an early age, and throughout her education she invested
many hours into writing and editing. Her intrinsic motivation was
obvious.
This brings us to the psychoeconomic hypotheses mentioned
brie¯ y in the introduction. This interdisciplinary view was pro-
posed by Rubenson and Runco ( 1992) . As the name implies it uses
economic concepts to explain behavior. Of most importance may
be the concept of investments . Simply put, psychoeconomic theory
uses the temporal and psychic investments of creators to predict
behavior. The more the individual has invested, the more he or she
has to loseÐ and the less likely he or she is to remain ¯ exible and
creative.
The idea of investments was used by Rubenson and Runco
( 1995) to describe how groups could be optimized for creative
work. A group that is optimal for creative work, in this view, will
have individuals who are well established in the ® eld as well as
newcomers. The well-established persons are likely to have large
investments, and they will therefore bring large knowledge bases to
the group. They will also be relatively rigid because they have so
much to lose, via depreciation, if their expertise turns out to be
worthless. They will also be more likely than newcomers to debate,
which could contribute to stimulating group discussion, and hope-
fully to the airing of various perspectives. The newcomers contrib-
ute to the group in that they will be the most likely to be ¯ exible
enough to consider and appreciate the various perspectives. They
 S uicide and C reativity 641

would be the most likely to creatively integrate those perspectives

into an innovative product or result.
What is most relevant is the idea that persons with large invest-
ments have a great deal to lose. With this in mind, think back on
what we suggested above, namely that Plath had invested a large
amount of time and energy into her work. She started writing at
an early age, for example, which implies a temporal investment. A
reading of T he B ell J ar ( Plath, 1971) shows that her work was very
personal, which implies that there was also a large psychic invest-
ment. Simply stated, then, my hypothesis is that the stress Plath
experienced was magni® ed and signi® cant enough to elicit depres-
sion and suicide ideation at least in part because she had invested
so much into her work.
D iscount rates may also help explain why Plath considered
suicide. Discount rates are relevant because as Shulman ( 1998)
pointed out, Plath was ``extremely deprived’ ’ at the time of her
suicide. Deprivation will certainly in¯ uence discount rates. In the
words of Rubenson and Runco ( 1992) ,

Investment decisions will depend on an individual’s discount rate, or the

interest rate that person uses to discount bene® ts received in the future.
Like income, bene® ts to be received in the future are worth less than those
received immediately. This principle applies directly to investments in cre-
ative potential. An individual who is willing to defer grati® cation is implic-
itly placing a low discount rate on future bene® ts. On the other hand, a
person who discounts the future heavily would be unwilling to make costly
investments today in exchange for bene® ts to be received only gradually in
the future. Individual di€ erences in discount rates, then, would be expected
to explain some di€ erences in their rates of investment in creative potential.
( pp. 136± 137)

Plath was discounting the future heavily. She clearly was unwilling
to invest any more in her own creative potential. She was in fact
unwilling to invest in life.
Support can be found for the other facets of my hypothesis, in
addition to Plath’ s heavy psychic and temporal investments. Con-
sider Mraz and Runco’ s ( 1994) ® ndings that certain indices of cre-
ative thinking add signi® cantly to predictions of suicide. In
particular, they found that suicide ideation could be predicted
from ( a) high ideational ability and ( b) inadequate ¯ exibility when
considering options, solutions, or interpretations. The ® rst of these
642 M . A . R unco

is probably apparent when the individual interprets difficulties of

his or her experience. It is related to the prob lem ® nding and prob lem
generation often discussed in the creativity literature ( see Jay &
Perkins, 1995, for reviews) . Inadequate ¯ exibility, on the other
hand, is exactly what you would expect when an individual has
invested heavily in a career : The possibility of depreciation makes
¯ exibility a risky option. Inadequate ¯ exibility may be manifested
when a suicidal ``person focuses on her unbearable pain’’ and ``sees
no alternatives’’ ( Lester, 1998) .
Plath invested very heavily in her writing, which made this the
area in which she had the most to lose. Granted, most authors have
experienced rejection letters from publishers and many have read
critical reviews of their work, but Plath’s productivity put her in a
position where she would experience an extraordinary number of
rejections and critiques. Lester ( 1993) noted that ``a run of rejec-
tion slips would lead Sylvia to question her ability and fall into a
depression’ ’ . This kind of rejection may be especially difficult to
accept because it is unpredictable and largely outside of one’ s
control. Plath was especially productive right before her suicide.
Lester ( 1998) noted that she was ``writing poetry at a frantic pace
in the months prior to her death.’ ’ The hypothesis given above
would take this to mean that she would have been the least ¯ exible
and adaptable at that point as well. Her in¯ exibility would
increase in direct proportion to her productivity.
The immersion and heavy psychic investments that creative
persons make into their work may also explain why so many of
them seem to be unusually sensitive ( Runco & Sakamoto, in press ;
Wake® eld, 1994 ; Wallace, 1991) . That sensitivity could in turn
help to explain the a€ ective tendencies and suicide rates. It rein-
forces the idea that creative persons will react in a dramatic fashion
to stress related to depreciations of their work. Ackerman ( 1997)
saw something like this when she described Plath as having ``a
terrifyingly intimate relationship with the world . . . what an
adorer of the world she was, one of life’s keenest observers and
celebrant’ ’ ( p. 174) . Plath’s keen observations, which I believe
re¯ ect an underlying sensitivity, are clear throughout her work. It
may be that this sensitivity was the initial predisposing factor in
Plath’ s life. Everything else may have an impact because of the
extant sensitivity.
 S uicide and C reativity 643

The idea of depreciation and the depression resulting from it

would seem to be consistent with the perturbation and rejection
noted by Lester ( 1998) :
Plath had just published a novel under a pseudonym which had received
only lukewarm reviews and not yet found an American publisher; in addi-
tion, her new poems, which were written in a new style, were being rejected
by the magazines which had formerly accepted her work.

The idea that investments lead to sensitivity, and thus to depres-

sion and suicide ideation, may apply to other creative persons, and
not just to Sylvia Plath. Indeed, it may apply to many professional
artists, although I believe it will apply more accurately to those
whose work is highly personal. Recall here that suicide rates were
high in all samples of poets in the research of Martindale ( 1972) ,
Jamison ( 1993) , and Ludwig ( 1995) .1 Perhaps many of them expe-
rience the same kind of tensions and depressions because of analo-
gous investments and stressors.
It may be that poetry requires psychic investments, and thus it
always leads to the sensitivity I mentioned above. That would
explain the inordinate rates of a€ ective disorder and suicide. The
poet Stephen Spender ( 1970) suggested something like this when
he claimed that ``a poet has to adapt himself, more or less con-
sciously, to the demands of his vocation, and hence the peculiarities
of poets and the condition of inspiration which many people have
said is near to madness’’ ( p. 61) . Writing is a risky profession, and
a risky area in which to invest, and this may be particularly true of
poetry, since the response may be the most unpredictable.

Disclosure and Responsibility

Not long ago I ( Runco, 1993) explored some of the unique features
of writing in an essay on creativity and morality :
1 A d m itted ly , W ittk ow er an d W itt kow er ( 1963) rep ort ed ``a rem ark ab ly sm a ll n um b er

of self-in ¯ icted dea ths am on g a rt ists’ ’ ( p. 133) . T his is, how ev er, v ery lik ely the lea st relia ble
of the studies a va ilab le b ecau se of the sou rces ( i.e., biog ra ph ies of ® g ures from t he d ista nt
pa st) . T he a uth ors fou nd n o rep ort s of su icid es for a rt ists before 1500 ; but th en a rap id
increa se, possib le attrib utab le to th e ``loss of its stig m a ’ ’ ( p . 148) . A rt ists m a y n ot ha v e tak en
th eir ow n lives v ery freq u ently , or it m a y n ot h av e b een ob v iou s tha t they d id so, or ea rly
biog ra ph ers w ere hesitan t to rep ort su icid es a nd su icid e a ttem pts.
644 M . A . R unco

If an artist intends to have moral impact, he or she should de® ne problems

in such a way as to facilitate their solution. This may be easier in some
domains ( e.g., ® lm or ® ction) than in others ( painting or sculpture) , but
this does not imply that certain arts are more important than others. J ust as
problem ® nding and problem solving are both required of most creative
e€ orts, so too are various arts important on the societal level for the expres-
sion and development of creative morality. To be a bit more concrete about
this, painting may be the best medium for the communication of certain
problems or issues ( e.g., Picasso’s Guernica) , while literature might allow
an artist to actually operationalize problems, point to potential solutions, or
test and react to hypothetical solutions. Consider, for example, Schwebel’s
( 1993) discussion of Hemingway, and the fact that in his writing, ``the
image of a better world was clear.’’ On the other hand, the notion that
literature or drama have more potential for suggesting solutions ignores the
symbolic and metaphorical potency of the visual arts, as well as the possi-
bility that they are better able to elicit emotional reactionÐ anger, empathy,
or interest, all of which might motivate the individual towards the solution
of the problems. ( pp. 24± 25)

If I am correct about this, writing may provide an opportunity

for detailed disclosure. That is an important possibility because
Pennebaker ( 1993) has found clear bene® ts when individuals write
or discuss ``personally upsetting experiences’ ’ ( p. 539 ; also see Pen-
nebaker, 1995) . Pennebaker’ s ® ndings are quite impressive because
they have been replicated ( e.g., Pennebaker & Pennebaker, in
press) and because the bene® ts are apparent in objective indices of
physical health ( e.g., immune functioning) .
If writing allows disclosure, we might expect Plath to have bene-
® tted from her writing. Certainly her work was the sort that should
have allowed the bene® ts of disclosure. As Shulman ( 1998) put
it, ``Sylvia . . . revealed herself accurately in all her writing.’’ He
also referred to her ``literary endeavors’ ’ as ``authentic self-
expression.’’ Along the same lines Saldivar ( 1992) described Plath
as a ``confessional poet’ ’ ( p. xii) .
If writing has the potential to relieve stressÐ it can be quite
catharticÐ why do professional writers experience depression ?
There are several possibilities. One is that the relationship between
health and creativity may vary at di€ erent levels of ability ( see
Richards, in press) , and the bene® ts of writing may be limited to
noneminent persons, like those involved in Pennebaker’ s ( 1993)
research. Perhaps eminent writers pick up the pen so often that
they have habituated, while for noneminent persons writing rep-
 S uicide and C reativity 645

resents a new opportunity for disclosure. At least as likely is that

the depression experienced by many creators has a strong genetic
contribution. Perhaps Plath was predisposed to depression
( Jamison, 1993 ; Shulman, 1998) .
There is another possibility that should be considered : Depres-
sion could be a reaction to creative work. Perhaps depression is a
reaction to writing. More realistically, writing might contribute to
depression, as well as result from it. Writing may not have been
cathartic for Plath because it put her in a position where she was
dependent on her imagination and required to openly consider
primary process material and a€ ect which had the strong potential
to provoke anxiety.
There are three reasons for taking this possibility seriously. First,
it appears that this direction of e€ ect ( i.e., creative work being the
cause rather than the result) may characterize other creative acts
and other manifestations of health ( and ill-health ; Richards, 1991) .
Second, this direction of e€ ectÐ from the creative act to the a€ ect-
ive stateÐ was very clear in the work of another writer, namely
John Cheever ( Rothenberg, 1990) . Rothenberg described the
anxiety that may result from creative work extremely well :

The creative . . . involves a gradual unearthing of unconscious pro-

cesses. . . . The creative person embarks on an activity leading to discovery
and knowing himself or herself in a very fundamental way. . . . Such an
unearthing process is fraught with a good deal of anxiety as it unfolds. Also,
anxiety and strain arise from carrying out very high-level performance and
the especially demanding work of creative accomplishment. ( pp. 196± 197) .

Rothenberg felt that this kind of strain may have led John Cheever
to alcohol. It could have led Plath to depression, as well. In this
regard it is interesting that Saldivar ( 1992) described Plath’s ``fear
of her imaginative power as a solvent that might be more destruc-
tive than transforming’’ ( p. 117) . That seems to imply that Plath
herself showed fear in response to her work creative e€ orts.
Was Plath productive immediately before her death because she
had tension, and hoped writing would work its cathartic magic ?
Or could all of the writing actually have caused some of the tension
that eventually killed her ? If writing can provoke anxiety, and
Plath was ``writing poetry at a frantic pace in the months prior to
her death’’ ( Lester, 1998) , we could expect her to have experi-
646 M . A . R unco

enced signi® cant tension at that speci® c point in her life. It may
have even triggered suicide ideation.
Kaun’ s ( 1991) examination of writers is consistent with the idea
that writing may have unhealthful e€ ects. He found that the
average lifespan for writers was 61.7 years, compared with 67.9 for
cartoonists, 68.9 for musicians, and 69.4 for architects. All of these
® gures are lower than those for conductors, composers, dancers,
singers, photographers, and painters.
Kaun ( 1991) explained his ® ndings by the fact that writers
might be frustrated by the lack of immediate grati® cation. No
doubt writers di€ er from performing artists in this regard. Writers
often work years before they publish their work. Kaun added that
writers have few signi® cant social interactions while working and
thus have little opportunity for positive feedback. He cited Andrea-
sen and Canter’s ( 1974) ® nding about the dissatisfaction of writers
as suggesting that they do not enjoy the actual writing. Abra ( in
press) can also be cited because he implied much the same by his
quoting a writer as saying, ``Sure, writing is easy. . . . Just sit at a
typewriter and open an artery !’ ’
Kaun ( 1991) also pointed out that ``creative writing provides
the least stimulation to all the senses save the imagination’’ ( p.
388) , and in that manner it may contribute to dissatisfaction.
Perhaps most signi® cant was Kaun’ s suggestion that writers ``come
to rely heavily on leisure activity as a source of immediate satisfac-
tion’’ ( p. 388) . This could lead them to lifestyles that are ``gener-
ally ill-suited to good health.’ ’ Hence the high mortality rate.
The third reason I suggested that the depression± writing
relationship be turned on its head follows from what I already said
about investments in writing. If depreciation and in¯ exibility do in
fact result from investments, those investments ( and the potential
depreciations) would exist b ef ore the depression and stress. The
depression and stress would occur because of the investments. This
begs the question of why individuals will invest heavily in a stress-
ful activity. Why do writers writeÐ and sometimes commit suicide ?

On Seemingly Irrational Life Choices and the Subjectivity

of Experience

Many biographers have explored the various stressors in Plath’ s

 S uicide and C reativity 647

life. Shulman ( 1998) described Plath’s marital problems, for

example, and her living outside of the United States ( her country
of origin) . ( It may be relevant that divorce is near the top of the
list on events or life change scales of stress.) Plath’ s husband was
sometimes violent, and they were separated more than once. When
she taught at Smith College, Plath was well liked by students but
not accepted by her colleagues. Plath had medical problems ( e.g.,
illness, appendicitis) and apparently had mixed feelings about her
mother. She moved out of the United States at age 27 but did not
get along with her in-laws. She was in a car crash, and her son was
left with a deformity of the eye. There was pressure on her to act
like a traditional homemaker, and arguments with her husband
about chores at home, manners, and who was the more successful.
Many authors may have felt some competition in their careers, but
how many are in a competitive situation with their spouses ?
Then there are the contradictions Plath may have felt. She
apparently loved her husband, for example, but she disliked his
manners and his ¯ irting. She loved her mother but was angry as
well. She wanted children, but she worried about her husband,
and she may have worried about writing while a mother. She
needed time to write and some degree of isolation, but she appar-
ently like company. She identi® ed with her father but was angry
over what she may have seen as his suicide. Perhaps most signi® -
cant is the possible anxiety resulting from the discrepancy between
what was expected of her and what Lester ( 1993) called the ``sup-
pressed . . . real Sylvia.’’ Clearly suppression is antithetical to the
disclosure that can allow writing to stimulate health ( Pennebaker
& Pennebaker, in press) . Suppression may be what keeps some
writers from bene® tting from writing.
Several of the stressors in that list suggests feelings of
responsibility. Plath may have also felt the pull of responsibility to
writing. This can be quite strong for writers, and it can easily lead
to pressure and stress. Mark Twain ( 1977 / 1863, p. 340) noted the
responsibility of writing when he admitted, ``it is a good thing . . .
to write for the amusement of the public, but it is a far higher and
nobler thing to write for their instruction, their pro® t, their actual
and tangible bene® t.’’ Ayn Rand ( 1958 / 1939) alluded to ``great
problems’ ’ in her discussions of the Romantic Realist school of
writing and the need for authors to deal with ``values [ which]
648 M . A . R unco

pertain to this earth and to the basic problems of this era.’’ James
Michener ( 1991) suggested, ``within the century the job of the nov-
elist will be not to entertain the masses but to communicate with
his or her peers on ever higher intellectual levelsÐ to keep the
national culture vigorously alive’’ ( p. 254) . On what he called ``the
responsibility of the artist,’’ Michener pointed to Ezra Pound as an
example of a ``symbol of artists who rebel against authority . . . ask
impertinent questions . . . by one trick or another infuriate the
establishment’’ ( p. 386) . Pound was quoted as saying : ``Write only
for your peers. Ignore the general public. They always follow false
gods’ ’ ( p. 351) . Lester ( 1993) noted how Plath wanted to be
accepted by her peers.
In T he N ovel , ( Michener, 1991) , Michener’s protagonist argues
that ``an artist is obligated to wrestle with the problems of society
as they arise’’ ( p. 351) . He continued, ``an artist must be judged by
how he handles the great problems of his day. He doesn’ t have to
write about them, you understand, just be conversant and allude
to them in a consistent way. And it is obligatory that he break
from the past in order to comprehend the now’ ’ ( p. 258) .
I already hypothesized that Plath ( and other poets or artists
who make signi® cant psychic investments in their work) may have
experienced extreme stress because of the huge investment she
made in her writing. I also raised the possibility that Plath was
sometimes unable to deal with the stress and anxiety because it was
actually brought on by the writing. The third option is that Plath
may have simply been faced with too many stressors. The list of
potentials stressor in the paragraph above is fairly extensive, and
the quantity of stressors is a factor. The impact of stress is often
accurately estimated from information about ( a) the severity of the
experiences, ( b) the number of stressors, and ( c) one’s interpreta-
tive tendencies and coping skills.
Plath may very well have reacted to any or all of the experiences
and situations listed above, but like all stressors, they must be
viewed as potential stressors. Just as the events on the Life Event
Scales used to estimate stress ( cf. Mraz & Runco, 1994) may not
be interpreted by some persons as stressful, so too does any e€ ect of
competition, living abroad, or coming from a broken home depend
on an individual’s interpretation of the experience. Just to mention
two examples, for some persons competition makes work more
 S uicide and C reativity 649

interesting. For others, divorce is liberatingÐ a relief. For some

individuals, living abroad represents an opportunity. Many cre-
ative persons appreciate travel and changes in perspective. Some
( e.g., Steinbeck, Hemingway) seem to have used travel to stimulate
their creative work. The point is that stress is an interpretation of
experience, and interpretations are entirely personal and subjec-
tive. Stress, like beauty, is in the eyes of the beholder.
Consider now Plath’s marriage to Ted Hughes. Shulman ( 1998)
described it as a ``self-destructive choice.’’ Apparently Plath knew
Hughes was ``oriented to seductions’ ’ and foresaw the devastation
she would feel if they had a serious relationship and he was
unfaithfulÐ but she married him anyway. That might be difficult
to explainÐ unless we acknowledge that Plath held a perspective
that we might not be able to decipher using traditional objective
logic. Traditional logic does indeed suggest that Plath made a self-
destructive choice, and yet on some level, Plath herself felt it was
the right thing to do. We may not be able to describe her reasons ;
they may be idiosyncratic and not ``logical’’ enough to explain
with a logical analysis.
Saldivar’s ( 1992) description of di€ erent ``forms of imagination
[ that ] were available to Plath’’ ( p. xi) is helpful in this regard.
Saldivar held that one form of imagination was used to ``meet the
given world and to celebrate her imagination’ s ® t with it.’’ The
other ``could ® nd no accommodation in the given . . . thus it strug-
gled self-consciously and continually to create itself anew. This is
the negating or gnostic imagination that deals with limitations by
refusing them in a drive toward the more sublime’ ’ ( p. xi) . Saldi-
var felt these two forms of imagination were manifested in the early
and later poetry of Plath, respectively, and in poetry that was more
imitative and that which was more original and more authentic.
Plath’s gnostic imagination and her ``refusing’’ limitations can
help explain her self-destructive choices. If that imagination re¯ ec-
ted the ``real self’’ of Plath where she ``could ® nd no accommoda-
tion,’’ we have further evidence of her personal perspective, and
further reason to place her reasoning ( at least about self-destructive
choices) outside the reach of a traditional logical analysis. It may
not seem logical to us that Plath married Hughes, but she had her
reasons, just as she had reasons for constructing her powerful verse
the way she did.
650 M . A . R unco

Conclusions

In sum, my suggestion is that we consider Plath’s investments,

sensitivity, and stress, and that we acknowledge the highly personal
side of her reasoning ( that may have been inextricable from both
her creative insight and seemingly self-destructive and illogical
decisions) . Moreover, I suggested that the psychoeconomic per-
spective may help explain that personal reasoning. Plath’ s invest-
ments and discount rates were her own. They were idiosyncratic
and personal, and they may have contributed to her uniqueness.
Of course, it would be most reasonable to consider Plath’s per-
fectionism and drive for achievement, as well as her psychic invest-
ments, idiosyncratic sensitivities, and stress. Indeed, what is most
reasonable is a multivariate explanation that takes both Plath’ s
temperament into account, as well as her unique experiences and
her unique perspective and reasoningÐ and their interaction. Plath
may have been predisposedÐ especially by her sensitivityÐ but she
also experienced trauma of various sorts. As Shulman ( 1998)
pointed out, events that trigger depression or suicide are not suffi-
cient explanations. For a complete understanding, predisposing
and precipitating factors should also be considered. That is another
way of calling for what I just labeled a multivariate explanation.
I mentioned that in some ways Plath’s life was typical of
eminent creators. But in other ways her background was atypical.
She was a ® rst-born child, for example, which often works against
creativity. First-born children are often fairly conventional in their
work and need for achievement ( Sulloway, 1996) . Consider also
Plath’ s motivations. She was driven, intrinsically motivated to
write, but she was not just intrinsically motivated. Apparently she
was well aware of audience reaction and sometimes nervous about
the reviews of her work. Recall here the suggestion that Plath
wanted to be accepted by her peers. By itself this mix of motives
may not be very surprising. Most likely, creative persons are often
both intrinsically and extrinsically motivated ( Rubenson & Runco,
1992 ; Runco, 1993) .
It should be clear at this point that it is the atypicalÐ or as
I put it above, the idiosyncraticÐ that I wish to emphasize.
Idiosyncratic reasoning may explain why cognitive theories of
suicide often conclude that suicide is irrational ( Lester, 1998) .
 S uicide and C reativity 651

It is not irrational ; it is simply idiosyncratic. ( Just above I ended

a paragraph with ``stress, like beauty, is in the eye of the
beholder.’ ’ A second modi® ed cliche is appropriate for the point
I am trying to make about Plath’s idiosyncratic perspective. The
point I am trying to make is that when trying to understand an
individual’s past behavior, ``hindsight is not 20± 20.’’ In hindsight,
Plath’ s self-destructive choices would seem to be irrational, but
from her perspective they may have been reasonable, somehow.)
This notion of idiosyncratic logic is consistent with Gruber’ s
( 1988) proposition that to understand creative persons we need
``theories of the individual.’’ Similarly, my characterization of
Plath’ s gnostic imagination is entirely compatible with a de® nition
of creativity that emphasizes the original interpretation of experi-
ence ( Runco, 1996) . I proposed that creativity is ``manifested in
the intentions and motivation to transform the objective world into
original interpretations, coupled with the ability to decide when
this is useful and when it is not.’’ This de® nition may help explain
what seem to be self-destructive choices, as well as the originality of
the insights produced by creative individuals.
An analogy may help. I am referring to Meehl’ s ( 1954) well-
known demonstrations of the di€ erences between statistical and
clinical predictions. Meehl found that models can be constructed
from judgments given by clinicians. These may be multivariate, as
when a clinician uses the MMPI or a similar pro® le. Each dimen-
sion of that pro® le can be given its own weight such that the diag-
nosis matches that which is in fact given by the clinician. But when
computers use the same weights with new pro® les, they generate
diagnoses that di€ er from those given by the clinicians themselves !
The reason : Clinicians do not really weigh the relevant dimensions
in an objective manner. Apparently they weigh the relevant infor-
mation in a fashion that cannot be captured by a statistical model.
They have idiosyncratic tendencies when weighing information
and making diagnoses. This leads to a unique logic that may appear
to be illogical from an statistical ( or objective) perspective.
The idiosyncratic basis of interpretation and suicide may help
explain why there are so many eminent creative persons who
commit suicide ( Ludwig, 1995) , but at the same time evidence for
a connection between creativity and some facets of psychological
health ( Runco & Richards, in press) . After all, what is problem-
652 M . A . R unco

atic, debilitating, or stressful to one person may be challenging or

unimportant to another. What one person perceives as stressful
may go unnoticed by someone else. Problems and stress are both
subjective. In studies of stress, there are discrepancies between
events and hassles and perceived stress ( Mraz & Runco, 1994) .
I am not suggesting that we cannot predict suicides using objec-
tive data. I am, however, suggesting that we may not fully under-
stand Plath’s creativity, nor her suicide, in objective terms. At the
very least, we need to acknowledge that there are likely to be idio-
syncratic contributions to suicide. This may be true of all suicides,
given that from an objective standpoint, suicide is always irratio-
nal. In this article I attempted to explain them in terms of invest-
ments ( which re¯ ected Plath’ s own decisions and temperament) ,
depreciations ( resulting from her temporal and psychic
investments) , and sensitivity. These might be used along with the
various temperamental and experiential indicators of poetic genius
and tragedy.

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