by Bandy X. Lee
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Zimbardo, Philip, and John Boyd. 2009. The Time Paradox. New York: Atria.
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PATHOLOGICAL NARCISSISM AND POLITICS
A Lethal Mix
CRAIG MALKIN, PH.D.
My twitter has become so powerful that I can actually make my enemies tell the truth.
Donald J. Trump, tweet from October 17, 2012
In 1952, a young Richard Nixon, rising star in the Republican Party, had been handpicked as Eisenhower’s running mate, and by all accounts, the Republicans made a sound choice. Nixon’s great strength was the message he’d pounded like a drumbeat into voters’ ears: Washington needed a major cleanup, a White House full of good moral upstanding people. The elites, like the previous administration under Harry Truman and Eisenhower’s opponent, Adlai Stevenson—a brilliant orator and skilled lawyer—had ruined it for everyone with their corruption, communism, and cronyism (“pay for play,” as we’ve come to call it).
America embraced the message for a time—the Ike-Nixon team held a substantial lead in the polls—but just as he and Eisenhower were gearing up to stump for votes on their “whistle stop” tours of the country—Nixon on his train, the Nixon Express, Eisenhower on his, the Look Ahead, Neighbor—Nixon became embroiled in a potentially career-ending controversy. Stories erupted of a secret slush fund of money from his supporters that he used to live the high life: a mink coat for his wife, Pat; lavish dinners for himself and his friends; and—worst of all—special favors for those who’d subsidized him. The story, courtesy of the New York Post’s Leo Katcher, spread like wildfire, fueled by an especially incendiary headline: Secret Rich Men’s Trust Fund Keeps Nixon in Style Far Beyond His Salary.
Public outcry was loud and clear: Nixon should resign as Eisenhower’s running mate. As late election season disasters go, this one was a juggernaut; behind the scenes, the entire team scrambled to rescue a troubled campaign. With no solution in sight, Nixon made a bold decision: he’d appeal directly to the American people by laying bare every financial detail of his life. His wife, Pat, was reportedly mortified at the thought of his sharing their economic history with the entire country, but Nixon remained undeterred.
On the evening of September 23, 1952, Nixon sat before a TV audience of 60 million, his alarmed wife beside him, mostly off screen, and went through each and every one of his accounts: what he owned and what he owed, line by line. Nixon reassured viewers that an independent audit had found no wrongdoing and that he hadn’t used a penny of the money he’d been given for personal gain. But, he confessed, there was one gift that had brought personal benefit that he couldn’t bear to return:
It was a little cocker spaniel dog in a crate … sent all the way from Texas. Black and white spotted. And our little girl—Tricia, the six-year-old—named it Checkers. And you know, the kids, like all kids, love the dog and I just want to say this right now, that regardless of what they say about it, we’re gonna keep it.
Though Nixon was unsure how successful he’d been, and political opinion was divided along party lines, the speech worked with the American public, earning him a place in people’s hearts and securing his position on the Republican ticket. Eisenhower and Nixon trounced their opponents, and President Eisenhower assumed office as the thirty-fourth commander in chief.
To some, Nixon’s comeback wasn’t surprising. Despite his unassuming hangdog look, Nixon brought a blend of brutal ambition and relentless determination to politics that few had seen before. And he used that same drive to survive one defeat after another, including, later, his losses to John F. Kennedy in 1960 as president of the United States and Pat Brown, in 1962, as governor of California. The last defeat was supposed to be his curtain call in politics; famously, in his “final” press conference, he dourly announced, “Just think what you’re going to be missing. You won’t have Nixon to kick around anymore.” But if Nixon worried about being kicked, he certainly didn’t show it. He remained in politics, and continued to thrive, ultimately becoming president of the United States in 1968.
Everything finally seemed to be going Nixon’s way, despite his trouble leaving behind his nickname from the 1950s, “Tricky Dick.” He even enjoyed accolades for bringing U.S. troops back from Vietnam, opening diplomatic relations with Communist China, and kibitzing with Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin after they walked on the moon. Even with the carnage of Vietnam looming in the background, he appeared to have a largely successful first term, and sailed to victory again in 1972, to serve his second term.
If the fund scandal ambushed Nixon, the next threat crept up on him like a thief in the night. After months of rumblings about Tricky Dick’s dirty dealings, he finally came face-to-face with the scandal that brought him down once and for all: Watergate. As details of illegal wiretappings, blackmail, and burglaries trickled out, Nixon’s dark side came fully into the light. Here, the public learned, was a self-serving suspicious man who secretly taped every Oval Office conversation, arranged the break-in at the Democratic National Committee (DNC) headquarters, and—when distressed—paced the White House halls, holding court with portraits. Here was a man who swore lividly about the Jews taking over, employed unsavory characters like former FBI agent-cum-mercenary, G. Gordon Liddy, and spent much of his time becoming belligerently drunk while Cambodia was carpet-bombed.
Strangely, this profanity-prone, paranoid tyrant both was—and wasn’t—the man people thought they knew: a comeback king, resilient in defeat, humble in victory, but always, behind the scenes it seems, on the precipice of some self-made disaster. This was the paradox of Nixon.
* * *
Nixon’s story, as fascinating as it is terrifying, tells us a great deal about the relationship between personality and politics. What’s most surprising about Nixon is the fact that his apparently contradictory character appears to be rather unremarkable among presidents and politicians. That is, Nixon displayed a combination of intense ambition, authority, grandiosity, arrogance, entitlement, subterfuge, and self-importance that appears to have been common in the Oval Office throughout history. Nixon was a narcissist.
Narcissism: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
Despite what you may have read, narcissist isn’t a diagnosis and it never has been. Narcissism isn’t a diagnosis either. Narcissism, in fact, is best understood as a trait that occurs, to varying degrees, in all of us: the drive to feel special, to stand out from the other 7 billion people on the planet, to feel exceptional or unique.
Instead of thinking of narcissism as all or none, think of it along a spectrum, stretching from zero on the low end, signifying no drive to feel special, to moderate at 5, and finally, spiking to 10 at the extreme:
Moderate narcissism (around 4 to 6) is where we have the healthiest amount of the trait. Lower and higher on the scale present problems. If you imagine feeling special like a drug, moderate (“healthy”) narcissism gives us a little boost when we need it, a way to press on when the world and sometimes common sense tell us our reach might exceed our grasp. According to 30 years of research, the vast majority of happy healthy people around the world feel a little special, even if privately. Healthy narcissism isn’t simply self-confidence, self-care, or self-esteem. It’s a slightly unrealistically positive self-image. Think of it as rose-colored glasses for the self—the glasses are strong enough to tint the world, but not so opaque they blind us to reality.
Healthy narcissism comes with a host of benefits. Moderately narcissistic teens are less anxious and depressed and have far better rela
tionships than their low and high narcissism peers. Likewise, corporate leaders with moderate narcissism are rated by their employees as far more effective than those with too little or too much. And in our team’s research, we’re finding that people with healthy narcissism are happier, more optimistic, and more consistently self-confident than those at the low or high end of the spectrum.
When someone scores well above average in narcissistic traits (picture above 6 on the spectrum), they earn the label narcissist. There are many types of narcissists, though we’re most familiar with the extroverted kind (a.k.a obvious, overt, or grandiose, in the research): ambitious, outgoing charismatic individuals, often drawn to the spotlight. Most politicians, actors, and celebrities exhibit this louder, chest-thumping brand of narcissism. Presidents seem to be especially likely to rank high in extroverted narcissism.
In fact, psychologist Ronald J. Deluga, of Bryant College, used biographical information to calculate a Narcissistic Personality Inventory score (a tool for measuring extroverted narcissism) for every commander in chief, from George Washington through Ronald Reagan. He found that high-ego presidents like Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan ranked higher than more soft-spoken leaders like Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford, but almost all presidents scored high enough to be considered “narcissists.”
A more recent study led by psychologists Ashley L. Watts and Scott O. Lilienfeld of Emory University yielded similar results, but also revealed something that helps explain Nixon’s dual nature: as the presidents’ narcissism scores increased, so did their likelihood of facing impeachment proceedings, “abusing positions of power, tolerating unethical behavior in subordinates, stealing, bending or breaking rules, cheating on taxes, and having extramarital affairs.” The authors’ conclusion: narcissism is a double-edged sword, much as we’ve seen in Nixon’s and Bill Clinton’s case—and as we may be seeing in Donald Trump’s case.
Donald Trump’s brand of narcissism is clearly the obvious, loud kind, and it certainly comes with a downside. While he’s extremely extroverted—he was, after all, the star of his own reality TV show—he also demonstrates many of the worst qualities we see in a narcissist. He brags: “I’ll be the best jobs president God ever created.” He boasts: “It’s in my blood. I’m smart,” he assured a crowd at a South Carolina rally. “Really smart.” And he freely insults people, mocking their looks (“Rosie O’Donnell is a fat Pig”), their talent (Meryl Streep is “one of the most overrated actresses in Hollywood”), and—perhaps because they mattered most to him as a TV star—their ratings. He sparked a Twitter feud with Arnold Schwarzenegger, accusing him of killing Trump’s beloved show, The Celebrity Apprentice.
Wow, the ratings are in and Arnold Schwarzenegger got “swamped” (or destroyed) by comparison to the ratings machine, DJT. So much for being a movie star—and that was season 1 compared to season 14. Now compare him to my season 1.
Donald J. Trump, Tweet from January 6, 2017
But perhaps the most startling display of Trump’s numbers obsession took place when he had his press secretary, Sean Spicer, hold a briefing, the principal subject of which was the size of his inauguration crowd. Many watched and listened in disbelief while reporters pressed the question: why is this topic the central point of the administration’s first press briefing?
A preoccupation with size is certainly laughably Freudian, but is it reason enough to question Trump’s leadership capacity? When does the double-edged sword of narcissism—Trump’s or any other president’s—turn dangerous? That answer is more complicated than it seems, but it turns, in part, on whether or not their narcissism is high enough to count as an illness.
Pathological narcissism begins when people become so addicted to feeling special that, just like with any drug, they’ll do anything to get their “high,” including lie, steal, cheat, betray, and even hurt those closest to them. Imagine this starting around 9 on the spectrum and getting worse as we approach 10. At these points, you’re in the realm of narcissistic personality disorder (NPD).
For a detailed description of NPD, see the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-V), but for now, here’s a simple explanation. People with NPD have a strong need, in every area of their life, to be treated as if they’re special. To those with NPD, other people are simply mirrors, useful only insofar as they reflect back the special view of themselves they so desperately long to see. If that means making others look bad by comparison—say, by ruining their reputation at work—so be it. Because life is a constant competition, they’re also usually riddled with envy over what other people seem to have. And they’ll let you know it. At the heart of pathological narcissism, or NPD, is what I call Triple E:
• Entitlement, acting as if the world and other people owe them and should bend to their will
• Exploitation, using the people around them to make themselves feel special, no matter what the emotional or even physical cost to others (battering away at their self-esteem or running them into the ground with late-night work projects)
• Empathy-impairment, neglecting and ignoring the needs and feelings of others, even of those closest to them, because their own need to feel special is all that matters
Exploitation and entitlement (or EE, in the research) are linked to just about every troubling behavior pathological narcissists demonstrate: aggression when their ego is threatened, infidelity, vindictiveness, extreme envy, boasting, name-dropping, denial of any problems or wrongdoing—even workplace sabotage.
As people become more addicted to feeling special, they grow ever more dangerous. Here’s where pathological narcissism often blends with psychopathy, a pattern of remorseless lies and manipulation. Psychopaths may carry on affairs, embezzle funds, ruin your reputation, and still greet you with a smile, without feeling any guilt, shame, or sadness.
Unlike NPD, psychopathy is marked not by impaired or blocked empathy but a complete absence of it (apart from being able to parrot words that sound like empathy, known as “cognitive empathy”). In fact, some neuroimaging evidence suggests that psychopaths don’t experience emotions the same way non-psychopaths do. The emotion centers of their brains simply fail to light up when they confess shameful events, say, cheating on a spouse or punching a friend, or when they see pictures of people in pain or suffering or anguish.
When NPD and psychopathy combine, they form a pattern of behavior called malignant narcissism. This isn’t a diagnosis, but a term coined by psychoanalyst Erich Fromm and elaborated on by personality disorder expert, Otto Kernberg, to describe people so driven by feeling special that they essentially see other people as pawns in their game of kill or be killed, whether metaphorically or literally. Hitler, who murdered millions, Kim Jong-un, who’s suspected of ordering his uncle’s and brother-in-law’s deaths, and Vladimir Putin, who jokes about “liquidating journalists”—no doubt all fall in the category of malignant narcissist (among possessing other pernicious traits, like sadism, or delight in hurting others).
The problem is not all malignant narcissists are as overtly dangerous as people like Hitler, Putin, or Kim Jong-un, especially in democracies like the U.S., where it’s still presumably illegal to kill people who disagree with you—even if they do write articles you don’t like. That means if we’re trying to determine whether or not a pathologically narcissistic president poses a threat to our country or the world, we’ll also have to look to subtler indicators than a penchant for murder. We need to examine whether or not they can perform their jobs, one of the most important of which is to preserve the safety of our country—and the world.
Mentally Ill Leaders: Are They Functional or Impaired?
The diagnosis of a mental illness—NPD or any other—is not by itself a judgment about whether a person is a capable leader. Steve Jobs, by all accounts, had NPD—yelling at staff, questioning their competence, calling them “shit”—but he also galvanized Apple’s engineers into developing the iMac, the iPod, and the iPhone. No doubt more than a few shareholders wou
ld have objected to Job’s re-removal (he’d already been ousted for his nasty attitude once) from the company. He may have had what mental health clinicians call “high functioning” NPD—he was narcissistic enough to show Triple E, but still able to be incredibly productive, maintain decent (enough) family relationships and friendships, and mostly keep his angry explosions from completely blowing up the workplace.
What mental health experts concern themselves with most when it comes to assessing the dangers of mental illness are “functional impairments.” That is, how much do the symptoms of a person’s mental illness interfere with their ability to hold down a job, maintain meaningful relationships, and—most importantly—manage their intense feelings, such as anger or sadness or fear, without becoming a danger to themselves or others? This is particularly important when it comes to positions as powerful as president of the United States. Steve Jobs calling another CEO “a piece of shit” has far less troubling implications than the leader of the free world telling a volatile dictator he’s “very dumb.”
In other words, in tackling the question of whether or not a leader’s narcissism is dangerous, it’s not enough to say they’re mentally ill; I’ve helped many clients over the years with active psychotic illness, who have wonderful loving relationships and maintain steady jobs, even while anxiously worrying, for example, about devices being implanted in their teeth. Equating mental illness with incapacity merely stigmatizes the mentally ill.
When it comes to the question of whether or not someone who’s mentally ill can function, danger is the key—to self or others. This is where pathological narcissism and politics can indeed become a toxic, even lethal, mix. When peace at home and abroad are at stake—not just the feelings of coworkers, friends, or partners—pathological narcissism unchecked could lead to World War III.
The greatest danger, as we saw with Nixon, is that pathological narcissists can lose touch with reality in subtle ways that become extremely dangerous over time. When they can’t let go of their need to be admired or recognized, they have to bend or invent a reality in which they remain special despite all messages to the contrary. In point of fact, they become dangerously psychotic. It’s just not always obvious until it’s too late.