Wednesday, August 12, 2020

The suicide of a gypsy

 

The suicide of a gypsy

 

          I have always been interested in suicidal behavior in the oppressed. I have written about suicide in the German concentration camps of World War Two, suicide in prisoners, and other oppressed groups. I was also fortunate to be asked to contribute a chapter on suicide in the Roma people and Irish Travellers:

 

Lester, D. Suicide among the Roma people and Irish Travelers. In D. van Bergen, A. H. Montesinos & M. Schouler-Ocak (Eds.) Suicidal behavior of immigrants and ethnic minorities in Europe. Boston, MA: Hogrefe, 2015, pp. 101-111.

 

At the IASP conference in Brussels in 1989, I saw a poster on suicide in Hungarian gypsies by Tamas Zonda, and I persuaded Tamas to let me help him publish his study.

 

Zonda, T., & Lester, D. Suicide among Hungarian gypsies. Acta Psychiatrica Scandinavica, 1990, 82, 381-382.

 

          This week, The Economist reported that a successful member of the Roma people had died by suicide at the age of 46. László Bogdán (he preferred the label Cigány rather than Roma) was the mayor of Cserdi, a town of 350 in southern Hungary. He was elected mayor in 2006 and had transformed the village. The town had dilapidated houses, joblessness, rubble strewn everywhere, and 300 cases of petty crime each year. Under László, the houses became restored and neat, with bathrooms added, and people worked in the fields and in plastic greenhouses producing quality vegetables. Officials from other towns came to learn from the Roma people working in the Cserdi miracle. László (Laci) ran the town like a father, watching over everyone and trying to motivate the young people to go to university. Roma from outside the village sometimes criticized him, for some preferred to remain victims.

 

          According to The Economist, there were no clues that he might die by suicide but, then, the villagers and The Economist’s reporter are not trained to notice the clues which I’m sure were there. It is hard for a Roma to move into the mainstream where he or she might have influence on, or even in, the government. It is a tragedy to lose László.

 

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

A day at the office (before I retired in 2015)

 

A DAY AT THE OFFICE

 

            Although I was awake at 5 a.m., I fell asleep again and was woken by the alarm clock at 5.45 a.m., but I usually wake up before it rings, and turn it off. As is common, I woke up with a headache. I took my shower, dressed, and left the house at 6 a.m.

 

            The drive to the college is 40 miles and takes about an hour in the morning when there’s no traffic, a straight road most of the way down Route 30 (which goes from Astoria, Oregon, to Atlantic City, via Philadelphia). Almost all my life in New Jersey (since 1975) has been spent driving up and down Route 30. One day, I must drive it all the way to Oregon.

 

            There are four McDonalds on the way to the college, but I like the one nearest the college in Egg Harbor. I arrived thereat 6.50 a.m. This morning I had a two-for-one coupon (My Dean keeps me fed with McDonalds’ coupons), and I had the bacon, egg and cheese bagel, with a senior coffee for $3.68. I like to read there, and I read a cute story about a high school female athlete in Texas, staying there longer than usual. I got my free refill of coffee and arrived at the college at 7.30 a.m.

 

            The one-mile drive into the college is through pine woods. Usually I see deer there, but there were none today. The sun was a pale silver disc hidden behind low clouds racing by. That last mile is a pleasure each time I come to the college.

 

            After getting to my office, I opened the SOBL (Social & Behavioral Sciences) office and had the place to myself. Except, catastrophe, the Xerox machine was broken and unfixable. I did my printing (a revision of an article on the Suicide Opinion Questionnaire which has been accepted by Omega and the cover letter, a chapter for a festschrift for Ronald Clarke, a former colleague, a draft of a chapter on workplace violence, the first of a series of letters written by a suicide, and a handout for my statistics class).

 

            At 8, I panicked because I seemed to have lost a copyright form. (I eventually found it in the envelope for Omega, where it was supposed to be.) And then one of my advisees stopped by to check whether she had registered for the correct courses. I teased her that I am not supposed to be disturbed before class, but I sat with and checked her courses. I checked my e-mails and printed the important ones (so much for the paperless office) and went off to my 8.30 am class on Statistical Methods.

 

At the end of the class, I gave them a quiz on permutations and combinations and, while they did it, I typed in scores from a questionnaire on religiosity that my students had filled out earlier in the semester. (They are using the data for their SPSS projects.)

 

            I was back in my office at 10.15 a.m. I typed in some data for a study on state measures of irrationality for a study I’m doing with Bijou, printed some journal articles from online (including a psychological autopsy study of suicides in Bali). Then I went to the library to get an interlibrary loan book (for a study one of my students is planning on Internet addiction) and a book in our library someone had recommended as relevant to my multiple-self theory of personality.

 

            At 10.45, I wrote an e-mail to Tamas Zonda in Hungary about a study he wants me to help write up and publish on panic disorder and suicide, downloaded some data from Ben Park (at Penn State University) on “reasons for living” that he had collected in South Korea, and at 11 a.m. broke for lunch (my second bacon, egg and cheese bagel).

 

            At 11.20, I ran some analyses on incidents of mass murder that I need for my chapter on workplace violence (do the murderers who commit suicide kill more victims than those who are arrested?), got my “in press” files to take home to organize, and then collapsed. I have an old leather chair in my office that a colleague threw out, and I rested there for half an hour. (I used to have a bed in my office but, foolishly, I threw it out a few years ago so that I could have more filing cabinets!)

 

            The Xerox machine was still not fixed (it was “down” for the rest of the day), and so I did not have much to do. I attended to e-mails and sneaked some important Xeroxing on other machines. At 12.25, I went off to my 12.30 class on Abnormal Psychology. I was showing a video on manic-depression and I scored helplessness/hopelessness questionnaires from students while the video played. Two students would not stop talking. I hushed them and then threw a blackboard eraser in their general direction – about three feet from them. The other students laughed, but one of the talkers claimed to be upset by this! My next class is at 2.30 p.m. (the classes are each 1 hour and 50 minutes long) on Personality and, as soon as that class ended, I felt exhausted again and left for home (at 4.15).

 

            It takes longer to get home (with the traffic), and I arrived at 5.45, fixed myself a margarita and, because Bijou teaches on Thursday nights, heated a Lean Cuisine frozen dinner. I called my son (who had called Bijou earlier in the day) and called Alan to tell him that the movie (Amelia) we want to see has not opened yet.

 

Most evenings I work a little, but tonight I was tired. I had the Ole Miss-South Carolina college football game on the television, I checked and wrote e-mails, I played card games on the PC, and I worked a little – organized the “in press” files and typed up a handout for my statistics class, all at the same time – nothing intense.

 

Bijou arrived home at 10 p.m.

 

            This semester, I teach only two days (Tuesdays and Thursdays) and, as I get older, I find it tiring to teach three 2-hour classes each day as well as getting my printing, xeroxing and data analyses done. But I do like the four-day weekend. On alternate semesters, I teach Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with shorter classes and longer breaks between classes, but those days are longer. On Mondays and Wednesdays, I start teaching at 8.30 a.m. and finish at 5.20 p.m., although on Fridays, I am finished teaching at 11.10 a.m. And I have a “normal” weekend. It’s a toss up which schedule I prefer, so alternating semesters is probably the best choice.

Interview with David as a thanatologist

 

INTERVIEW WITH DAVID AS A THANATOLOGIST[1]

Why did you develop a death anxiety scale?

As psychologists, we spend much of our time looking for predispositions and long-term indications of why people become who they are and why they behave as they do. We neglect the role of serendipity.

 

I went to Cambridge University to read physics and switched to psychology because I was depressed during a bout of influenza one Christmas. The Department of Psychology at Cambridge University was heavily experimental. Their library, however, had, perhaps by mistake, purchased Clues to Suicide by Shneidman and Farberow (1957), which I discovered and read and which moved me greatly.

 

I ended up at Brandeis University because I fell in love with and American college student whom I met in France, and because Brandeis University sent a flyer to Cambridge University advertising generous fellowships for foreign students. (More serendipity.) As it turned out, my graduate work was paid for by Revlon Cosmetics or, more precisely, the Revson Foundation. I had the opportunity to work with Abraham Maslow who let us choose our own topics for dissertations, and so permitted me to study death and suicide.

 

Finally, I had to take a graduate course with a new assistant professor who had us read Edwards’s (1957) book on scale construction and assigned us the task of constructing a scale. I chose to measure the fear of death.

 

As I reviewed the literature on the fear of death, I was struck by the absence of well-designed scales for this trait (Lester, 1967). Although I am fascinated most by theory, I have been struck by how research to a large extent neglects theory and is stimulated by the availability of a good psychological test. For example, Rotter’s (1966) notion of an internal versus an external locus of control can be related back to psychological theory, but the tremendous research activity on this topic was stimulated in part by the availability of his scale (and later those of others) to measure the trait.

 

I did not publish the so-called Lester Attitude Toward Death Scale until recently, although I used it in research and made it available to anyone who wrote for a copy (Lester, 1991a). It was really a graduate student exercise determined by the content of the course I was taking. But this exercise got me interested in test construction and suggested the possibility of measuring several components of a trait with one scale. My first scale measured two traits: the general attitude toward death, and inconsistency in death attitudes.

 

Serendipity again intruded when I took up my first teaching position at Wellesley College. Lora Jean Collett was working with Eugene McCarthy on his bid for the presidency. Had McCarthy won, there might have been no Collett-Lester Fear of Death Scale (Lester, 1990). But he lost, and Lora Jean asked how she was going to pass her course with me. We decided on the fear of death scale project.

 

I had been disturbed by the complexity of the content of the fear of death scales then available. It seemed to me that they were mixing several dimensions, in particular, death versus dying and whether consideration was being given to oneself or to another person. Additionally, there were also items on funerals, cemeteries and pessimism. These various aspects might be highly related but, if so, this relatedness was something that needed to be explored empirically.

 

Furthermore, I had never liked item-analyses (and factor-analyses in particular) to determine subscales. I have always preferred to use the manifest content of the items to choose my subscales. (Of course, I do carry out item-analyses and sometimes publish them, but I do not give them greater weight than content). So we wrote four subscales: fear of death of self, fear of death of other, fear of dying of self, and fear of dying of others. (I left the funeral scale until later [Lester & Blustein, 1980]).

 

It perhaps noticeable to others that, although I teach about the reliability and validity of psychological test, I was not overly interested in exploring the reliability and validity of my own scales. Luckily, by the time I formally published both scales, others had conducted a great deal of research with them, so that I could present a fairly good manual for each scale (Lester, 1990, 1991a).

 

Has being a research on death affected your professional life?

I am primarily known as a “suicide scholar,” though I also conduct research into the fear of death and into murder. But I think that being a death scholar does have professional implications. Death is not a respectable topic for psychologists. A perusal of the textbooks for the core curriculum of psychology quickly reveals that death and suicide are almost never mentioned (save that abnormal psychology texts have a brief section on suicide in the chapter on affective disorders.) Death is not a topic amenable to laboratory research, and psychology has been addicted to laboratory research.

 

Of course, psychologists do occasionally move out of the laboratory to conduct research. But academic psychology focuses on experimental control and laboratory analogs for human behavior. To me, that kind of research is no different from crossword puzzles or chess problems. What has interested me is human behavior in its natural setting. Hence I focus, for example, on murder, rather than some pale laboratory analog of aggression such as shocking a stooge in a learning task for making errors.

 

Psychiatrists can study death because fears of death, suicide, and murder are in important problems for them. For sociologists, suicide, received a certain measure of respectability by Durkheim’s (1897) work on the topic. But no famous theoretical psychologist has ever focused on death (except, of course, for the existentialists who remain on the fringe of the field).

 

To remedy this situation, I recently wrote a book in which I took the major theories of personality and saw to what extent they might enlighten us about suicide (Lester, 1988). I have also explored the major systems of psychotherapy for counseling the suicidal client (Lester, 1991b). Through these books, I hope to influence textbook writers that it is permissible and even useful to discuss suicide.

 

I believe that those whose scholarly focus is death will be less likely to be offered positions in the psychology departments at major universities.

 

What are the conclusive and significant findings about death anxiety?

Are there any conclusive findings which have great interest? Perhaps one such finding is that, however measured, death anxiety is associated with psychopathology. Perhaps another is that the concept of death (and, therefore, death anxiety) develops with age. It seems to me that not all adults will share the same concept of death, though, and their concepts of death might affect their death anxiety.

 What are the most significant omissions in the death anxiety scale literature?

There is one major problem in the death anxiety scale literature, and that is the reliance on the self-report of conscious death anxiety. To be sure, it is sometimes foolish for psychologists to go to great lengths to measure psychological traits in people without their conscious awareness. Sometimes it is simply easier and just s valid to ask people directly about the focus of concern.

 

However, I believe that death anxiety is quite different at the conscious level (e.g., sitting at a desk and answering a questionnaire) from what it might be in other situations. In the 1960s and 1970s there were a few studies of subliminally-measured death anxiety, but general interest in this approach was never truly aroused.

 

Secondly, death anxiety under particular stressors may differ considerably from that experienced when taking a self-report test. For example, I always obtain minimal scores on death anxiety scales when I complete them myself. However, I have had occasional anxiety attacks about death and dying (especially at night and when traveling abroad). On occasions when the airplane in which I was flying seemed likely to crash, my death anxiety became quite high!

 

We need to find out what factors lead to the generation of our death anxiety. What childhood experiences, family patterns, and parental behaviors lead to the development of high versus low death anxiety? Donald Templer and I collaborated many years ago on a study of the association between the death anxiety of students and their parents; this was a first step, but much more needs to be done in exploring the genesis of death anxiety (Lester & Templer, 1972).

 

Another problem with death anxiety research is its lack of a theoretical basis. The only psychologists who place any importance on death anxiety are the existentialists who see death anxiety as one of the four major existential problems that we must deal with (along with isolation, freedom, and will). I think research on death anxiety must draw from theoretical positions so that the research will seem to have greater implications for clinical psychology.

Have death anxiety scales lent themselves to a self-insulating, glass wall type of research? 

Psychological research is stimulated much more by the development of particular scales than by theory. Of course, the scale itself may have a theoretical basis or influence, but, once the scale appears, it generates hundreds of studies if the concept measured appeals to people. This later research is often atheoretical. It is easy to criticize research which is scale-based rather than theory-based (or based on introspection of the objective phenomenon). However, the research findings so generated do form a body of knowledge which, appropriately reviewed, can lead to interesting insights. And there are, of course some researchers who do think a little beyond the constraints imposed by an existing scale.

 

What factors should a researcher consider before deciding to use a death anxiety scale?

 

I have a bias here, not surprisingly. I feel that a multi-component death anxiety scale is crucial. It is unlikely that a particular life experience would affect all aspects of death anxiety. It may affect attitudes toward death or toward the process of dying, for example, or attitudes toward one’s own death or that of others. If a personality trait or experience is strongly related to all types of death anxiety, then it may well be related to all forms of anxiety, and have no special relevance to death anxiety.

 

On the other hand, to use a multi-component scale complicates one’s results. What if only one of the component scales gives you the results you hypothesized? Does this make the article weaker and less acceptable to a good scholarly journal? Might it be better to use a one-measure scale and gamble on getting one strong association?

 

However, it might be better if investigators did think through their hypotheses more carefully and ask whether they expect a change in or association with all fears of death or merely attitudes toward funerals, death, or dying.

 

I think also that investigators should strive for greater creativity. For example, there are other components besides simple death anxiety. In recent years, I have devised a simple measure of Laingian ontological insecurity, including doubts that one really exists (Lester & Thinschmidt, 1988). What about the existence of reunion fantasies and beliefs in the existence of life after death? I was intrigued by the old research on metaphors of death, but here has been very little follow-up on that (especially in identifying the core metaphors) (McClelland, 1963).

 What is your concept of death anxiety?

In my early work, my concept of death anxiety was determined by the technique of measurement. Could I devise an equal-interval scale to measure death attitudes? In thinking about the concept more, I decided that the items in the scales were rather heterogeneous, and so scales measuring different aspects of death and dying could be measured. However, in recent years, I have come to feel that the death attitude scale could (and perhaps should) be based more on theory. For example, Laing’s (1969) concept of ontological insecurity includes the feeling that one does not really exist. To develop a scale to measure death attitudes based on Laing’s ideas not only might provide an interesting research instrument, but would also tie the research directly to theory. In fact, I have published a brief scale to do this, as noted above.

 

Because of the dependence of so much research, including my own, on scale-generated studies, I have not thought much at all about my own concept of death anxiety and which theories I might base it on. Being forced now to reflect on this, I would opt for a multiplicity of concepts. Teaching as I do a course on theories of personality, I would prefer to develop concepts of death anxiety from each of the theories. For example, from George Kelly’s theory of personal constructs, we could focus on the difficulties in construing death. From Abraham Maslow, we could focus on both safety and security needs as generating a lower level (deficiency-motivated) death attitude. And from Freud we could search for infant fears (such as of destruction and mutilation) which could provide the basis for later fears of death.

 

As perhaps is evident from my research over the years, although I have my preferred theories, I like to be eclectic and use different theories to generate research hypotheses. And with regard to my own personal concept of death anxiety, surely all of this research on death has served to intellectualize my reactions to death and avoid reflection on my own personal death?

 

References

 

Durkheim, E. (1897). Le suicide. Paris: Felix Alcan

Edwards, A. L. (1957). Techniques of attitude scale construction. New York: Appleton-Century.

Laing, R. D. (1969). The divided self. New York: Pantheon.

Lester, D. (1967). Experimental and correlational studies of the fear of death. Psychological Bulletin, 67, 27-36.

Lester, D. (1988). Suicide from a psychological perspective. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas.

Lester, D. (1990). The Collett-Lester Fear of Death Scale. Death Studies, 14, 451-468.

Lester, D. (1991a). The Lester Attitude Toward Death Scale. Omega, 23, 67-75.

Lester, D. (1991b). Psychotherapy for suicidal clients. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas.

Lester, D., & Blustein, J. (1980). Attitudes toward funerals. Psychological Reports, 46, 1074.

Lester, D., & Templer, D. I. (1972). Resemblance of parent-child death-anxiety asa a function of age and sex of the child. Psychological Reports, 21, 750.

Lester, D., & Thinschmidt, J. (1988). The relationship of Laing’s concept of ontological insecurity to extraversion and neuroticism. Personality & Individual Differences, 9. 687-688.

McClelland, D. (1963). The Harlequin complex. In R. W. White (Ed.) The study of lives, pp. 91-119. New York: Atherton.

Rotter, J. B. (1966). Generalized expectancies for internal versus external control of reinforcement. Psychological Monographs, 80, Number 1.

Shneidman, E. S., & Farberow, N. L. (1957). Clues to suicide. New York: McGraw-Hill.



[1] From Lester, D., & Templer, D. I. (1992-1993). Death anxiety scales. Omega, 26, 239-253.

 

Reflections on a Scholarly Career

 

Reflections on a Scholarly Career

 

            The only career I remember planning as a child was farming. My aunt had a small farm with one cow, half a dozen breeding sows and 300 or so chickens. I loved visiting the farm in Norfolk and helping out with the chores – collecting eggs, putting the broody hens in a pen, mucking out he piglets, etc. I subscribed to Pig Farmer, and I bought a book on how to turn 500 acres of scrub land into a farm. I still remember that the Landrace pig (a Danish pig) has an extra rib, and so you get more meat.

 

            I was never very good at physics and chemistry at the age of 15, but then the two old codgers who taught those classes retired, and two younger teachers took over. I excelled. At the age of 16, in England, you specialize. All my classes thereafter were in physics, chemistry and mathematics. King’s College was interested only in sending the students to Oxbridge, and I got a major scholarship to St. John’s College at Cambridge University. Rather than idling for six months waiting to go, I persuaded my peers to study more mathematics before we arrived at Cambridge University. At Cambridge, I dropped chemistry and studied physics and mathematics – nothing else. Part 1 of my BA was in physics and mathematics, the equivalent of a BA here in the USA.

 

            I wanted to be the next Albert Einstein.

 

            I’ve described above why I switched to psychology. The result has always been a disappointment. The social sciences are not the natural sciences, and psychology is not physics. I’ve never taken psychology seriously. I think, if I had remained in physics and obtained my PhD and become a researcher, I would have published perhaps 30 or 40 papers, as my college roommate, Leslie, did. (He was an astrophysicist.) Instead, I have over 2,600 scholar articles, note, chapters and books in the social sciences. It’s not really enough to match 30 good physics papers.

 

            Serendipitously, I become interested in suicide, and I was allowed to choose that for my PhD thesis. I have become one of the world’s most foremost suicidologists. But, even that is not my main interest. I like theories of the mind (called Theories of Personality in psychology curricula). After teaching that course for many years, I went back and re-read the major theorists in the field and devised my own textbook and course. Later, I developed my own theory of the mind, published in two books and several articles. I think I am most pleased with that work even though it will never become a “major” theory of personality. It is odd to note that that topic was not taught by the psychology program at Cambridge (which focused on experimental psychology – learning, physiological psychology, and perception).

 

            I wanted to be the next Sigmund Freud. No chance!

 

            Because I could never take psychology seriously, and because I was tenured and a full professor at Richard Stockton State College at the age of 33, I could have fun as a scholar. I could write a note or a paper on whatever topic I liked, publish in any journal I liked, and say whatever I like. I’ve written on preventing suicide and assisting suicide. I used one case (by Ludwig Binswanger, an existential psychiatrist) to argue for suicide as a good death in one article and to accuse Binswanger of psychic murder (getting rid of a difficult patient by letting her die by suicide) in another article.

 

            I’ve written some good papers and books, cited by hundreds (and in one case thousands). Since I read everything on suicide from 1897 on, I have published on suicide from an anthropological, psychological, sociological, psychiatric, criminal justice, feminist, religion, etc perspective. I see myself in some ways as a creative, scholarly opportunist.

 

            But, I wonder. What if I had applied those same scholarly and creative skills to theoretical physics? What could I have achieved in that field? I’ll never know. My psychotherapist back in 1985 said that I would have benefited by counseling back in 1962., counseling to stay in physics.

 

            Of course, if I had, then perhaps I would not have emigrated to the United States, met Bijou, and ended up cruising the world in comfort.

 

The boondoggle in research, including suicide research

THE BOONDOGGLE IN RESEARCH, INCLUDING SUICIDE RESEARCH

 

David Lester

 

            There was a senator from Wisconsin, William Proxmire (1915-2005), who agitated against government wasteful spending. He instituted a Gold Fleece Award in which he would highlight research projects that seemed useless (such as $84,000 for a study on why people fall in love).

            This entry in my blog is about this topic in suicide research. A friend of mine is a firefighter/EMT (she is Katie’s sister for those of you who know my book Katie’s Diary), and she suggested we work on suicides among firefighters. I began a review of what has been written, and I found that almost all articles calculate that firefighters have a low suicide rate (SMRs less than one).

            Of course, at the personal level, the suicide by any colleague can be distressing, and certainly organizations of firefighters have expressed concern about suicide in their ranks, as should any guild or union. There are occupations for which the suicide rate is very high. Stack (2001) reported that dentists, artists, machinists, auto-mechanics and carpenters had high suicide rates.[1]

            Therefore, it is surprising to find government-funded research on mild suicidal behaviour (ideation and attempts) among firefighters. For example, a grant from Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Health Affairs was used in part to fund a study which found that a history of physical and sexual abuse was more often found in suicidal firefights than in non-suicidal fighters (Hom, et al., 2016). This is an association that has long been known and well-documented. The research was also used to test Joiner’s theory of suicide in this group, and whether this research is a valid test of Joiner’s theory is another issue (see Lester, 2013). Joiner’s theory can be tested (and has been) in any group of individuals, undergraduate students are as a good a group as any, and none of these studies are methodologically sound tests of the theory.[2]

            Recently (in 2019 and 2020), four elite economists have died by suicide, two of whom were tenured at Harvard University.[3] There will be no government grants to study suicide in elite, white males. The American Economic Association is going to have to fund any research on the topic.

            Of course, even funded research that may deserve the Golden Fleece Award may by useful. It helps graduate students pay their fees and living expenses and employs research assistants and post-docs. And perhaps funding psychological and sociological research is better than giving additional government funds to the DEA.

References

 Hom, M. A., Matheny, N. L., Stanley, I. h., Rogers, M. L., Cougle, J. R., & Joiner, T. E. (2016). Examining physical and sexual abuse histories as correlates of suicide risk among firefighters. Journal. of Traumatic Stress, 30, 672-681.

Joiner, T. E. (2005). Why people die by suicide. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Lester, D. (Ed.) (2004). Katie’s diary: unlocking the mystery of a suicide. New York: Brunner-Routledge.

Lester, D. (2013). Irrational thinking in suicidal individuals. Suicidologi, 18(2), 18-21.

Stack, S. (2001). Occupation and suicide. Social Science Quarterly, 82. 384-396.

 



[1] Clerks, elementary school teachers and cooks had low suicide rates.

[2] There are many reasons why this true, one of which is that the theory needs to be tested on those who have died by suicide.