Cutline · Grade 8–9 edition
This is the same instrument adults take, with one thing changed: every statement is about your world — group projects, phones, school rules, what to do when a rule is wrong. Four-letter quizzes get one thing right, and one thing badly wrong. Right: people sit on several separate scales at once. Wrong: that the middle of a scale is a border. So this one gives you the four letters, and then shows you exactly how close you came to getting different ones.
Nobody marks this. Nothing you tap leaves your device — there is no account, no server, no class list. The only person who sees the result is you, and the only reason it is worth doing honestly is that a dishonest answer gives you a worse map of yourself.
Twenty-four statements. Agree or disagree on a five-point scale, and pick “neutral” whenever you genuinely mean it — this quiz can return no type at all, and that is a real answer. Six statements feed each of four axes.
These four axes are not really about school. School is just the place where you already have opinions worth measuring. They are the same four things adults are arguing about whenever they argue about politics, and the sixteen results carry the names historians already use — including the ugly ones.
The first two letters place you on a 2×2 grid. The second two cut each quarter of that grid into four again. That is the entire trick behind every sixteen-type quiz you have ever been shown: two more axes, nothing mystical.
This is the Grade 8–9 edition. The adult edition uses the same four axes and the same weights — only the statements differ, so a result from either one is directly comparable with the other.
Your type
Here is what your four letters cost. Each bar is where you actually landed on a scale that runs smoothly from one end to the other. The vertical line is the cut that turned your position into a letter. Nothing in your answers put that line there — somebody chose where to slice, and noticing that is the entire point of this page.
The reading
Your first two letters are just your position on a 2×2 grid: who owns things across the bottom, who decides up the side. The code is a label stuck on a point that was never really a box.
Open the full list of all sixteen types →
Columns split by ownership, then horizon. Rows split by control, then method. The four quadrants of the map are still there — each one cut into four. Tap any box to read it.
Columns: collective → private. Within each half, internationalist then national.
Rows: centralized → decentralized. Within each half, rupture then gradual.
A four-letter code throws away almost everything. It keeps which side of each line you landed on and forgets how far. Two people with the same code can sit at opposite ends of the same box, and somebody two points from a cut line has more in common with the type across that line than with their own. Use it to start an argument, not to describe a person. That is true here and it is true of every four-letter quiz you will ever be handed — the difference is that this one shows you the arithmetic. And you are fourteen. You are supposed to change.
Keep this result
The link below is your result — all four letters and all four margins are encoded in it. Bookmark it, or send it to yourself. It is also saved in this browser, so it will be waiting on the start screen when you come back.
For teachers
Nothing is transmitted. There is no account, no server call and no class list. Answers and past results are held in the browser’s own storage and can be erased from the button on the start screen. A thirteen-year-old’s political answer sheet is not ours to hold, so we don’t hold it.
Sharing posts a type, not a student. The share buttons open the pupil’s own app with a link to one of sixteen public type pages. No answers, no margins and no personal result link ever go into a post — and nothing is shared unless they press the button.
It can refuse to answer. Every axis is signed-balanced: its weights add to exactly zero. A student who agrees with all twenty-four statements, or who answers neutral throughout, scores zero on all four axes and is told no reading rather than being handed a type invented out of rounding. That refusal is the lesson. Most quizzes will always give you something.
It reports its own margin. The Cutline Score is the smallest of the four margins, not the largest — a type is only as firm as its weakest letter. A student one answer away from a different result is told so, by name. This is the part worth discussing: the sixteen boxes are real, but the lines between them were drawn by a person.
The corner is named. PANR is called The Strongman and the description says the word fascism. Grade 8 and 9 curricula cover the Second World War; a typology that can describe that corner and then declines to name it is teaching something worse than the word.
Same four axes and identical weights as the adult edition — only the statement texts differ, so the two results are directly comparable. Print it, change the statements, translate it. Licensed CC BY-SA 4.0; the one condition is share-alike, so whatever you build from it stays as open as this.