logo
How to Be More Like Your Parents. Or Not.

How to Be More Like Your Parents. Or Not.

The Atlantic15-05-2025

Want to stay current with Arthur's writing? Sign up to get an email every time a new column comes out.
In Oscar Wilde's celebrated 1895 comedy, The Importance of Being Earnest, one of the protagonists famously asserts, 'All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy.' This is obviously hyperbolic, but one traditional piece of advice a young man commonly gets before getting married is never to say to his wife, 'You're turning into your mother.'
The idea of becoming like your parent is rarely offered as a compliment and even more rarely taken as one. People naturally resist the idea that some kind of genetic or environmental vortex is sucking them into being a version of someone else, especially when that someone is an immediate forebear about whom they probably harbor some ambivalent feelings. Even if your mom and dad really were in fact wonderful, and you felt nothing but love and admiration for them, we do still all want to be uniquely ourselves.
But are we? Social scientists and evolutionary biologists have been interested in this question for decades, not just in order to find genetic links to dread diseases, but also because we are curious to know the future of our relationships, worldly success, and happiness by seeing whether the personality characteristics that helped or hindered our parents are shaping us as well. Are you doomed to have an addiction because your father did? Will you bless others with a kind and gregarious spirit like your mother's?
The abundant evidence on this topic shows that we do indeed have a substantial genetic tendency to resemble our parents (and other relatives). But the similarity only goes so far, and depends a lot on how you see your past and on how you decide to build your own life. With knowledge and commitment, you can take a great deal of the good from Mom and Dad, but mostly leave behind the parts you don't like.
Researchers studying the heritability of character have generally approached the subject by surveying parents and their adult children about their personality, focusing on the so-called Big 5 traits of extroversion, openness to experience, neuroticism, agreeableness, and conscientiousness. Using information about genetic similarity and statistical techniques, they generally find that, on average, about half of the variance (48 percent, to be precise) in overall personality can be chalked up to genetic factors, and the other half (52 percent) to environmental ones. Within this framework, extroversion tends to be slightly more genetic, whereas agreeableness and conscientiousness are more environmental. Studies have also shown that father-son similarities are somewhat more environmental than mother-daughter similarities.
A twist on the survey approach involves comparing adult-child pairs in biological and adoptive families. In a famous, and still influential, 1985 study using this approach, researchers found that, in most ways, shared genes have a much greater influence than shared environment. For example, the correlation in sociability between mothers and their biological children was 15 times greater than that between mothers and their adopted children; for self-acceptance, the finding was six times greater.
The heritability of personality is always interesting, but many people have a more pressing concern to avoid problems that tend to run in families, such as mood disorders and addiction. Major depressive disorder, for example, has been found to be about 30 to 50 percent heritable. A 2006 Swedish study of twins found that the heritability rate is 29 percent for men, 42 percent for women. Researchers believe they have identified the biological source of this phenomenon: a 'short' variant of the serotonin transporter gene. They also note, however, that people who were subjected to stress by their parents in early childhood, which led to overactivation of the Hypothalamic-Pituitary-Adrenal Axis, are more likely to experience depression later in life.
Addiction is even more heritable; studies estimate genetic influence to be 30 to 70 percent of an addiction's cause. Although this makes the condition highly determined by inheritance compared with other traits, addiction is also more manageable than other inherited characteristics, through treatment and therapies that can modify behavior.
The popular wisdom that people become more like their parents as they age has a scientific basis. A 2020 study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology revealed that genetically similar people act more alike as they age— but only if siblings and parents share similar environments, such as living in the same general cultural milieu. So people who see their parents often, live in the same city, or share a similar community will probably become more like their parents
Unless, that is, you don't want to. Scholars in 2008 tested the personalities of parents and children, but also corrected their estimates for 'regard,' by which they meant an admiration for their parents that led children to want to emulate them. The higher the child's regard, they found, the greater the genetic influence the parents' personality had on the child's; the lower the regard, the lower the similarity. Researchers have correspondingly found that children who perceive rejection from their parents are less likely to resemble them, whereas those raised in a warm, loving home were more like their parents.
David French: The mistakes that parents make
Taken all together, the research suggests that if you admire your parents and want to be more like them, you can and will be, especially as the years pass. But if you would prefer to be less like them, you can do plenty to create your own path. To achieve that, focus on these two approaches.
1. Make the environment you want, and live in it.
Anyone who has several children will tell you that they all seem different—and that this usually becomes only more apparent as they grow up. This can actually be a source of sadness for aging parents, because the differences among siblings—in beliefs, values, lifestyle—may grow so large that they seem like strangers to one another. As scholars have noted, such divergence is explained by the fact that even within families, the environment that each sibling experiences can differ sharply, and these environmental factors become all the more distinct as siblings move into their independent adult lives.
You can lean into this differentiation to create an alternative environment for yourself, one that contrasts with your family's. This enables you, in effect, to make this non-heritable half of your character more influential. For instance, if your parents spent their whole lives in one part of the country, try moving somewhere very different. If they rejected religion, you might try making it part of your life. If they drank a lot, don't drink at all. You get the idea. Your genes are fairly fixed, but the environment you live in is under your control.
2. Use the lever of regard.
People tend to speak of their family background and upbringing in binary terms—either your childhood was wonderful, or it was awful. In truth, almost everyone's experience is more ambiguous than that, with both positives and negatives. Portraying your parents as either all bad or all good is not especially helpful for your emotional and psychological health.
You can make better decisions about your own adult life by listing the personality traits, beliefs, values, habits, and behaviors typical of your family, and putting a plus, minus, or zero next to each one, corresponding to whether that particular characteristic is one that you'd want to keep. This exercise sets a level of regard for each aspect of your family that you name. As noted above, regard has a strong influence on the genetic expression of parental traits in you—which makes it a handy lever to crank up or ratchet down the expression of a given trait.
Say that your mother was irresponsible with money; obviously, that gets a minus. Yet she was also a generous person; that gets a plus. She was also an extrovert, which is not a trait you feel strongly about, so it gets a zero. The list you create, and the rankings you give, can be revelatory the first time you do it, but I'd also suggest refreshing it and keeping it up-to-date. Then you can review it regularly, see if you still agree with yourself, and ensure you're making an effort to match how you live to the pluses and minuses of your regard.
One last thought: We are all someone's child, but you may also be, or may become, a parent yourself. Then your concern could be less how you're turning into your parents, and more whether your kids will resemble you. You'd like them to emulate your positive traits, of course, and avoid your negative ones. A good place to start is to be completely honest with yourself and not pretend that those negative traits don't exist or are somehow positive. For example, some people like to pat themselves on the back for always 'telling it like it is!' But from your child's perspective—and maybe to your friends, too—you might just seem embarrassingly tactless or downright obnoxious.
Once you have honestly sorted out the positive from the negative, be open about these traits with your kids, listen to their feedback, and show that you're trying to change what's not winning their regard. Researchers have amply demonstrated how strongly kids are influenced by watching their parents make an effort to achieve something: When young children see their parents struggle for something and succeed, they persist more in efforts themselves.
You cannot make a better bequest to your child than an understanding that what matters most is not the human clay we inherit, but that we are each always a work in progress. And we ourselves can mold that clay.

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

How Wittgenstein Can Make You Happier
How Wittgenstein Can Make You Happier

Yahoo

time2 days ago

  • Yahoo

How Wittgenstein Can Make You Happier

Want to stay current with Arthur's writing? Sign up to get an email every time a new column comes out. My preoccupation with writing about meaning, love, and happiness derives from my desire to understand these parts of life more deeply, and impart to others whatever understanding I can glean. I will confess that this can be a frustrating task at times because I feel as though I can never get to the essence of these sublimities; words always feel inadequate. For a long time, I believed that at some point—maybe after writing a million more words—I would finally arrive at the ability to adequately express what it is that I'm seeking. The philosopher Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein, who died in 1951, probably would have told me I was barking up the wrong tree. The writer and fellow philosopher Bertrand Russell called Wittgenstein's work 'perhaps the most perfect example I have ever known of genius as traditionally conceived, passionate, profound, intense and dominating,' yet Wittgenstein did not leave us much of it. He published only one book of philosophy in his life, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, which itself is only about 75 pages long. In it, Wittgenstein explained that language can never convey the fullest understanding of life. 'The limits of my language,' he wrote, 'mean the limits of my world.' Wittgenstein was no doubt conscious of the irony of making this argument through language. But in so doing, he offered a path to getting beyond words and to apprehend, after all, the ineffable essence of what we seek. Arthur C. Brooks: The ultimate German philosophy for a happier life Human communication is rife with misunderstanding, as social scientists have long observed. Researchers writing in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology in 2011 showed that people misunderstand the intended meaning of what others say, especially among close acquaintances such as family and friends. The scholars found that those who spoke with strangers communicated more clearly than with close associates, believing—incorrectly—that the latter would understand ambiguous phrases by virtue of their intimate affiliation. So what are the odds that you'll grasp correctly the next thing your spouse tells you? Digital communication makes the situation worse because it eliminates nonverbal cues. One explanation psychologists offer as a common cause of misunderstanding is motivated reasoning, in which our own desires and beliefs determine what we perceive to be true, rather than what someone else is telling us. For example, when your partner innocently asks what you've been up to today, you might incorrectly apprehend this as an expression of suspicion, because, in fact, you've been up to something they wouldn't approve of. Whereas psychologists see the problem as one of unreliable narrators and inattentive listeners, Wittgenstein, as a philosopher, saw the very medium of language itself as inherently flawed. Words, he believed, were inadequate to the task of conveying subtle truths, metaphysical ideas, or any subjective experience. This was because language is nothing more than a crude model of the world—a jumble of sounds or symbols that represents the underlying reality of existence about as accurately as a map on your phone represents a forest you're walking through. The sight of tall trees, the smell of pine needles, the solitude you sought have virtually nothing to do with the squiggle on the screen that crudely marks the trail. Wittgenstein never knew our modern technologies of communication, but he would surely see that they make his point times 10. Consider how much a text-message abbreviation and an emoji really tell you about what is in your beloved's heart. LOL, not much, right? Wittgenstein's proposition has significant implications for happiness, because misunderstanding lowers our well-being. For example, experiments show how failing to be understood by others reduces the satisfaction that participants report in subsequent activities. Even more profound, his conclusion about the inadequacy of language suggests that we will never comprehend the true meaning of our lives by reading or talking about it. How are we to escape this thicket of muddle and misunderstanding? To find meaning without words suggests that we need to seek a particular kind of transcendence. [Arthur C. Brooks: The key to critical self-awareness] Wittgenstein's contention resembles Saint Augustine of Hippo's argument that God is what we want, but God's nature also evades human expression—in fact, merely to talk about the divine is to trivialize him. But Augustine did not think that we should therefore abandon the whole project. The trick is to see language as only the beginning of a spiritual journey, not the end. He suggested that we use just one word—Deus (Latin for 'God')—as an audible departure point into the realm of the inexpressible. 'When that sound reaches' your ears,' he wrote, 'think of a nature supreme in excellence and eternal in existence.' This is, I believe, very close to what Wittgenstein suggested as well. I would recommend a couple of signposts to guide you on your journey beyond words. 1. Think; don't talk. Many religious and wisdom traditions recommend meditative contemplation on a single concept. Tibetan Buddhists call it 'analytical meditation,' a practice with which the Dalai Lama starts his morning, as he told me, and to which he devotes at least an hour every day. This mode of meditation involves a focused reflection on a scriptural phrase to inspire insight into what it signifies. (The Augustinian version of this practice was, in effect, to make Deus his word to meditate upon.) If I'm doing this, I might use the phrase 'I love my wife' as my starting point. Then I'd try to engage the right hemisphere of my brain, the region that processes meaningful associations and concepts, in contrast with the left hemisphere's logical problem-solving ability. The idea is to liberate my cognition from the limits of my vocabulary and linguistic ability—easier said than done, but it can be enough to just sit in silence with my phrase or allow my mind to roam on a forest walk. 2. Seek understanding, not answers. The second step—which is allied with disengaging our habitual left-brain dominance—is to stop looking for exact answers to difficult questions. The purpose of analytical meditation is not to generate a clean explanation for why I love my wife. Nor is it to compose a precise but prosaic argument for why I do so. That would be to go in the wrong direction, according to Wittgenstein and Augustine, only committing me more to the poverty of language and taking me further from the underlying truth. As soon as one tries to verbalize an answer to explain this love—'Because she is good to me'—one has belittled the concept and literally understated its truth. Consider how even the greatest love poetry—such as these lines from Elizabeth Barrett Browning: 'I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death'—essentially restates the Augustinian verity that this deeply complex experience defies utterance. The goal is to gain an understanding of this love, not an answer that's like the solution to a mathematical equation. [Arthur C. Brooks: The bliss of a quieter ego] What would Wittgenstein have us do about our ultimate problem of meaning in life? 'Whereof one cannot speak,' he offered as the last proposition in Tractatus, 'thereof one must be silent.' By all means, talk about trivial things, he seems to be saying, but don't waste your time trying to express life's profundities, because you will only fool others and frustrate yourself; better to keep your counsel. This injunction has generally been understood as a nihilistic statement of the impossibility of expression, and therefore of knowledge. I believe it is nothing of the sort. Being silent is the beginning of a different sort of cognition, a meditational path that does not seek straightforward answers. Allow yourself this silence, and the understanding you gain will be your ineffable reward. Article originally published at The Atlantic

How Wittgenstein Can Make You Happier
How Wittgenstein Can Make You Happier

Atlantic

time2 days ago

  • Atlantic

How Wittgenstein Can Make You Happier

Want to stay current with Arthur's writing? Sign up to get an email every time a new column comes out. My preoccupation with writing about meaning, love, and happiness derives from my desire to understand these parts of life more deeply, and impart to others whatever understanding I can glean. I will confess that this can be a frustrating task at times because I feel as though I can never get to the essence of these sublimities; words always feel inadequate. For a long time, I believed that at some point —maybe after writing a million more words—I would finally arrive at the ability to adequately express what it is that I'm seeking. The philosopher Ludwig Josef Johann Wittgenstein, who died in 1951, probably would have told me I was barking up the wrong tree. The writer and fellow philosopher Bertrand Russell called Wittgenstein's work 'perhaps the most perfect example I have ever known of genius as traditionally conceived, passionate, profound, intense and dominating,' yet Wittgenstein did not leave us much of it. He published only one book of philosophy in his life, the Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, which itself is only about 75 pages long. In it, Wittgenstein explained that language can never convey the fullest understanding of life. ' The limits of my language,' he wrote, 'mean the limits of my world.' Wittgenstein was no doubt conscious of the irony of making this argument through language. But in so doing, he offered a path to getting beyond words and to apprehend, after all, the ineffable essence of what we seek. Arthur C. Brooks: The ultimate German philosophy for a happier life Human communication is rife with misunderstanding, as social scientists have long observed. Researchers writing in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology in 2011 showed that people misunderstand the intended meaning of what others say, especially among close acquaintances such as family and friends. The scholars found that those who spoke with strangers communicated more clearly than with close associates, believing—incorrectly—that the latter would understand ambiguous phrases by virtue of their intimate affiliation. So what are the odds that you'll grasp correctly the next thing your spouse tells you? Digital communication makes the situation worse because it eliminates nonverbal cues. One explanation psychologists offer as a common cause of misunderstanding is motivated reasoning, in which our own desires and beliefs determine what we perceive to be true, rather than what someone else is telling us. For example, when your partner innocently asks what you've been up to today, you might incorrectly apprehend this as an expression of suspicion, because, in fact, you've been up to something they wouldn't approve of. Whereas psychologists see the problem as one of unreliable narrators and inattentive listeners, Wittgenstein, as a philosopher, saw the very medium of language itself as inherently flawed. Words, he believed, were inadequate to the task of conveying subtle truths, metaphysical ideas, or any subjective experience. This was because language is nothing more than a crude model of the world—a jumble of sounds or symbols that represents the underlying reality of existence about as accurately as a map on your phone represents a forest you're walking through. The sight of tall trees, the smell of pine needles, the solitude you sought have virtually nothing to do with the squiggle on the screen that crudely marks the trail. Wittgenstein never knew our modern technologies of communication, but he would surely see that they make his point times 10. Consider how much a text-message abbreviation and an emoji really tell you about what is in your beloved's heart. LOL, not much, right? Wittgenstein's proposition has significant implications for happiness, because misunderstanding lowers our well-being. For example, experiments show how failing to be understood by others reduces the satisfaction that participants report in subsequent activities. Even more profound, his conclusion about the inadequacy of language suggests that we will never comprehend the true meaning of our lives by reading or talking about it. How are we to escape this thicket of muddle and misunderstanding? To find meaning without words suggests that we need to seek a particular kind of transcendence. Arthur C. Brooks: The key to critical self-awareness Wittgenstein's contention resembles Saint Augustine of Hippo's argument that God is what we want, but God's nature also evades human expression—in fact, merely to talk about the divine is to trivialize him. But Augustine did not think that we should therefore abandon the whole project. The trick is to see language as only the beginning of a spiritual journey, not the end. He suggested that we use just one word— Deus (Latin for 'God')—as an audible departure point into the realm of the inexpressible. 'When that sound reaches' your ears,' he wrote, 'think of a nature supreme in excellence and eternal in existence.' This is, I believe, very close to what Wittgenstein suggested as well. I would recommend a couple of signposts to guide you on your journey beyond words. 1. Think; don't talk. Many religious and wisdom traditions recommend meditative contemplation on a single concept. Tibetan Buddhists call it 'analytical meditation,' a practice with which the Dalai Lama starts his morning, as he told me, and to which he devotes at least an hour every day. This mode of meditation involves a focused reflection on a scriptural phrase to inspire insight into what it signifies. (The Augustinian version of this practice was, in effect, to make Deus his word to meditate upon.) If I'm doing this, I might use the phrase 'I love my wife' as my starting point. Then I'd try to engage the right hemisphere of my brain, the region that processes meaningful associations and concepts, in contrast with the left hemisphere's logical problem-solving ability. The idea is to liberate my cognition from the limits of my vocabulary and linguistic ability—easier said than done, but it can be enough to just sit in silence with my phrase or allow my mind to roam on a forest walk. 2. Seek understanding, not answers. The second step—which is allied with dis engaging our habitual left-brain dominance—is to stop looking for exact answers to difficult questions. The purpose of analytical meditation is not to generate a clean explanation for why I love my wife. Nor is it to compose a precise but prosaic argument for why I do so. That would be to go in the wrong direction, according to Wittgenstein and Augustine, only committing me more to the poverty of language and taking me further from the underlying truth. As soon as one tries to verbalize an answer to explain this love—'Because she is good to me'—one has belittled the concept and literally understated its truth. Consider how even the greatest love poetry —such as these lines from Elizabeth Barrett Browning: 'I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death'—essentially restates the Augustinian verity that this deeply complex experience defies utterance. The goal is to gain an understanding of this love, not an answer that's like the solution to a mathematical equation. Arthur C. Brooks: The bliss of a quieter ego What would Wittgenstein have us do about our ultimate problem of meaning in life? 'Whereof one cannot speak,' he offered as the last proposition in Tractatus, 'thereof one must be silent.' By all means, talk about trivial things, he seems to be saying, but don't waste your time trying to express life's profundities, because you will only fool others and frustrate yourself; better to keep your counsel. This injunction has generally been understood as a nihilistic statement of the impossibility of expression, and therefore of knowledge. I believe it is nothing of the sort. Being silent is the beginning of a different sort of cognition, a meditational path that does not seek straightforward answers. Allow yourself this silence, and the understanding you gain will be your ineffable reward.

Archivists Aren't Ready for the ‘Very Online' Era
Archivists Aren't Ready for the ‘Very Online' Era

Yahoo

time3 days ago

  • Yahoo

Archivists Aren't Ready for the ‘Very Online' Era

In February 1987, members of a queer-student group at Queens College, in New York, started jotting down their private thoughts in a communal composition book. As in a diary, each entry was signed and dated. Members wrote about parties they'd attended, speakers they wanted to invite to campus, questions they had about their sexuality. The book, now housed in an archive at the college, was also a place to vent and snipe. In November 1991, a student wrote in all caps, 'I HATE QUEENS COLLEGE. I HATE HATRED. I HATE MY HAIR.' Below that, a member responded, 'I hate your hair too.' It's hard to imagine a future historian getting such an up-close glimpse into the thoughts and anxieties of the club's contemporary members. Around 2019, the group abandoned the composition books and migrated to the messaging app Discord. For students, the switch was likely a natural way to update the tradition of shared journaling. But for archivists interested in preserving the college's queer history, it caused a small panic. How would they ever sort through the sprawling chat? Whereas the journal entries required concision because page space was limited, people might be 'typing a mile a minute' on Discord, Caitlin Colban-Waldron, a Queens College archivist, told me. 'We were like, 'How do we take screenshots? Is there a way to export all of their conversations in a text file?'' Archivists across the country are confronting similar challenges. It was long the case that archives were full of physical ephemera. Think of Oscar Wilde's love letters to Lord Alfred Douglas; James Joyce's incessant lust for his future wife, Nora Barnacle (his 'little fuckbird'); Sylvia Plath's shopping list; Malcolm X's lost poem; and other scraps of paper buried in boxes. Today, text messages and disappearing voice notes have replaced letters between close friends, Instagram Stories vanish by default, and encrypted platforms such as Signal, where social movements flourish, let users automatically erase messages. Many people write to-do lists in notes apps and then delete them, line by line, when each task is complete. The problem for historians is twofold: On the one hand, celebrities, artists, executives, and social-movement leaders are generating more personal records than ever, meaning a lucky researcher might have access to a public figure's entire hard drive but struggle to interpret its contents. On the other hand, historians might lose access to the kind of intimate material that reveals the most—a possibility that has led some prognosticators to predict a coming 'digital dark age.' In some ways, archival research has always demanded sorting through verbal and visual detritus and working around unexpected gaps in records. But in the internet era, this laborious process threatens to become untenable. Our online lives will reshape not only the practice of studying history but also how future generations will tell the story of the past. The work of history starts with a negotiation. A public figure or their descendant—or, say, an activist group or a college club—works with an institution, such as a university library, to decide which of the figure's papers, correspondence, photos, and other materials to donate. Archivists then organize these records for researchers, who, over subsequent years, physically flip through them. These tidbits are deeply valuable. They reveal crucial details about our most famous figures and important historical events. They're the gas feeding the engine of our history books. Over the past two decades, the volume of these donations has increased dramatically. When Donald Mennerich, a digital archivist at NYU, first started working in the field, 15 years ago, writers or activists or public figures would hand over boxes of letters, notes, photos, meeting minutes, and maybe a floppy disk or a 'small computer that had a gigabyte hard drive,' he told me. Now, Mennerich said, 'everyone has a terabyte of data on their laptop and a 4-terabyte hard drive'—about 4,000 times as much content—plus an email inbox with 10,000 messages or more. [Read: The way we write history has changed] Processing this digital bulk is a headache. At the British Library, when a laptop arrives, Callum McKean, the library's lead digital curator, makes a master copy of the hard drive. Then archivists create a curated version that filters out sensitive information, just as they do for paper records. Various software promises to ease the work, for example by scanning an email inbox for potentially sensitive messages—bank-account details, doctor's notes, unintended sexual disclosures—but the technology isn't foolproof. Once, Mennerich was surprised to find that the tool had not redacted the phone number of a celebrity. So archivists must still review files by hand, which has 'created a huge bottleneck,' McKean told me. Now many libraries possess emails that they don't have the bandwidth to make accessible to researchers. The writer Ian McEwan's emails, although technically part of his collection at the Harry Ransom Center, in Texas, have not been processed, because of 'challenges in capacity,' a spokesperson told me. The archive of the poet Wendy Cope reportedly contains a trove of emails, but they are also not yet ready for the public and still need to undergo sensitivity review, McKean said. Recently, I visited NYU to examine the activist, artist, and onetime Andy Warhol acolyte Jeremy Ayers's files, which include a collection of his emails and an archive of his Facebook account. The public description of the Ayers collection hinted at a labyrinth of insights into the late stage of his career, when he photographed scenes from Occupy Wall Street—the kind of deep look into an artist's process and social calendar that would have been unthinkable a few decades ago. But my requests to view both his emails and his Facebook account were denied; an archivist had not yet reviewed the records for sensitivity. For now, until Ayers's digital files are fully processed, which could take a while, the archive promises more access than it can deliver. Even when an email archive is made public, as Salman Rushdie's is at Emory University and Chris Kraus's is at NYU, it's easy to get lost in the chaos. Jacquelyn Ardam, a writer and a literary scholar, was one of the first people to visit Susan Sontag's archive, which she told me was filled with digital clutter: Sephora marketing emails, files with unlabeled collections of words (rubbery, ineluctable), and lots and lots of lists—of movies she'd liked, drinks she'd enjoyed. 'There was so much material,' Ardam told me, 'that it was hard to make sense out of, okay, which one of these lists matters?' Among that mess of information, however, Ardam found emails confirming Sontag's relationship with the photographer Annie Leibovitz, which Sontag had denied. All Ardam had to do to locate them was 'search her computer for the word Annie,' she said. She didn't publish all of her findings about Sontag's romantic life, in part because they were so intimate. Ardam was confronting a different, somewhat sensitive question about navigating a person's digital history. When Sontag donated her laptop to the archive, did she realize how much she was giving away? In the past, even a writer of Sontag's stature would typically have a small-enough correspondence collection that they could plausibly review the letters they were planning to donate to an archive—and perhaps wouldn't have included missives from a secret lover. But the scope of our digital lives can make it much harder to account for everything (imagine giving up your whole social-media history to a researcher) and much easier for a historian to locate the tantalizing parts with a single search. [Read: Gen Z never learned to read cursive] Of course, that's if historians are lucky enough to access records at all. Many people delete their old texts to save storage space; with each swipe, years of correspondence might disappear. And even if they are saved, digital records are sometimes impossible to retrieve. Colban-Waldron, the Queens College archivist, told me about a visual artist who'd donated a word processor that simply doesn't turn on. Mennerich said he's been locked out of the email accounts of several deceased public figures because they never shared their passwords. Problems multiply when you run into information stored on third-party platforms. If you don't pay for Slack, for example, your messages will automatically delete after 90 days. Google Docs don't self-delete, but you can view version histories and resolved comments only on the platform itself, which poses a risk if Google Docs ever shuts down or stops supporting older documents. Whereas Toni Morrison's extensive notes on Angela Davis's autobiography have been preserved on paper for years, newer back-and-forths between editors and writers might disappear into the digital void. Archivists might be able to sidestep some of these problems by rethinking how they present collections of digital records. Today, after archivists do their initial review of a collection, visitors can typically get a complete box of someone's letters with no questions asked. With emails, conducting that whole initial review up front would be so much more time intensive that blanket access might no longer be realistic. McKean suggested that someone's complete email archive could be reduced down to metadata specifying whom they wrote to and when, and uploaded online. Researchers could then request specific conversations, and the archive could conduct a sensitivity review of those specific emails before releasing them, rather than tackling whole computers at once. Such a system might strip the archive of its potential for serendipitous findings. And it might disperse the complex ethical task of deciding what should (and should not) be released to multiple different archivists, who might have their own biases. But compromises like these might be unavoidable in an era of such inscrutable excess. A laptop donation might actually be the easy scenario. The archivists I spoke with told me they're all bracing themselves for the moment when, inevitably, a public figure donates their smartphone. It is in some ways the most personal kind of donation someone can make, offering access to text and WhatsApp histories, photos, Tinder messages, saved recipes, TikTok likes. Such a donation seems both likely to reveal more than a person's emails ever could and even harder to sort through and interpret. Archivists might want to stock up on the Excedrin now. As for historians, they might be in for more revealing discoveries—if only they can separate the signal from the noise. *Illustration sources: Flavio Coelho / Getty; gremlin / Getty. Article originally published at The Atlantic

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into the world of global news and events? Download our app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store