Abstract

Karl Pearson (1857–1936) claimed, in his biography of Francis Galton (1822–1911), that biography is the richest form of history. 1 But what is the “richest” form of biography? Or the most appropriate?
Thomas Söderqvist
2
suggested a fourfold typology of science biography:
Existential biography: this is an attempt to reconstruct the subject’s life from the inside, “to narrate the development of his [sic] life ‘as it is directly experienced by the biographical subject’.” This approach, Söderqvist’s preferred option, contrasts with the other three categories, all of which are “external to the experiencing individual confronted with his [sic!] existential choices.” Social biography: in which the individual is contextualised with reference to his [sic!!] “situatedness” in a certain time, a certain culture. Psychobiography: in which certain traits of the subject’s personality or his [sic!!!] achievements are explained with reference to psychological theory. Biographical case histories: aimed to generalise about genius, creativity or the life cycle.
One might argue that “science biography” is different to “medical biography,” in that not all practitioners of medicine or allied professions are, or aspire to be, scientists, and hence, this classification is not applicable or transferable. (Certainly, it is not presented here with any intention of being either prescriptive or proscriptive for submissions to JMB!).
However, putting this caveat to one side, I think it would be fair to say that most contributions to the Journal fall within the latter category, namely biographical case histories, hopefully with some overlap with social biography such that the individual life and work is contextualised. It may be that this is the best one can do in writing medical biography. Attempts at psychobiography, for example, as described by Söderqvist, must be vulnerable to shifts in psychological theory.
Those committed to the theory of mind, that is the ability to attribute or impute mental states to others, a faculty which appears to be an innate aspect of mental development in most individuals, will no doubt endorse Söderqvist’s idea of existential biography. As a neurologist, I remain sceptical about such an approach (as previously expressed: Medical Historian 2018; 28: 75–76). Can a biographer legitimately claim to know the mind states of contemporaries (“I know what you’re thinking” = “I think I know what you’re thinking”), even those intimately known, let alone recapitulate the direct experiences of those long dead?
This is surely not objective, unless contemporary primary source(s) exist(s), which can be referenced, in which the protagonist specifically states “I decided” or “I thought” or “I recognised.” Even then, such sources are often written in retrospect and hence susceptible to Kierkegaard’s dictum: “Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” I fear that the existential biographer might become confused with the omniscient narrator. We surely wish to avoid the situation where “Even great historians write down what the actors should have said, rather than what they did.” 3
I am delighted that Dr Hilary Morris who, unlike her predecessor, is a proper historian, has agreed to take on the editorship of the Journal and I wish her every success in the role, confident that she will continue to receive the immense support which I have received from the Editorial Board, and reviewers too numerous to mention, during my term in office (2015–2020).
